


A Fixed Point

by indiefic



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Amnesia, F/M, Steggy Pacific Rim AU, and then the kaiju showed up, pregnancy loss (referenced), the first half of CATFA happened in this universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-27 09:28:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8396434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indiefic/pseuds/indiefic
Summary: World War II was interrupted by the first kaiju attack.  In the seventy years since that attack, humanity has learned how to fight the monsters.  Jaeger pilots are the most highly trained military specialists on the planet, and they are often all that stands between humanity and the kaiju.  Meg Carver was pulled out of the East River five years ago.  With no memory and no prospects, she was admitted into the Jaeger program.  Meg is one of the best pilots Steve Rogers has ever trained, but she still has so far to go.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _All I need to be to you, and everybody on this dome, is a fixed point. The last man standing. I do not need your sympathy or your admiration. All I need is your compliance and your fighting skills._
> 
> _\--Stacker Pentecost_
> 
>  
> 
> AUTHOR’S NOTE: It will be A LOT easier to follow the final third of this story if you’ve seen Pacific Rim.

_Control, pilot down.  Pilot down!_

  
The morning alarm blared, jolting her awake.  Groaning, Meg burrowed deeper under her covers, smashing her pillow against her ears in an effort to silence the grating noise.  This wasn’t morning.  Morning was when the sun was coming up, birds were chirping.  This was solidly night and Meg wanted nothing more than to sleep

But if there had ever been a time when her wants mattered, Meg couldn’t remember it.  Along with a whole host of other things.  She kicked back the covers and tossed off the pillow, glowering at all of her barracks mates.  Her scowl went completely unnoticed as the two dozen other trainees went about their business, pushing themselves out of their bunks, making beds, pulling on uniforms.  

Meg walked into the bathroom and splashed water on her face.  Patting herself dry with a towel, she met her own dark brown eyes in the mirror.  Her hair had come out of its ponytail as she slept and the messy brown locks fell to her shoulders.  She wasn’t sure it was recognition she felt when looking at her reflection, but at least the face staring back at her didn’t seem wrong.  Sighing, Meg wrapped her hair in a messy bun and proceeded with the same morning ritual she’d known for the last three years.

One would think that after three years, the routine of the Jaeger pilot training compound would become more normal, more rote.  But it hadn’t.  Meg still felt every bit as out of step now as she had when she first woke.  

Meg was pulled, grievously injured, from the East River, nearly five years ago.  Massive head trauma.  Retrograde amnesia.  Meg knew these terms backwards and forwards.  She learned everything she could about them in a vain attempt to make sense of her life.  All she’d found were more questions.

She spent nearly a year the hospital, being poked and prodded and questioned and tested.  None of it gave her any insight into who she was, or who she had been.  At least nothing more than her fingerprints could tell her.  

Her name was Margaret “Meg” Carver, though she felt no attachment to any of those names.  She had other demographic information about herself, date of birth, location of birth.  She was British, apparently, which explained the accent.  They pulled her out of the river two months shy of her twenty-sixth birthday.  She had no next of kin.  

Meg read summaries of her years in foster care, the original files long since destroyed.  Her school marks had apparently been good despite a tumultuous childhood and adolescence.  She had scars from a bullet wound on the back of her right shoulder.  She’d been stabbed clean through her lower left abdomen.  She’d been pregnant, at some point, though never given birth.

Meg knew all these things about herself.  And she knew nothing about herself.  She was adrift, groundless.

The doctors eventually released her from the hospital.  She wasn’t sick.  She wasn’t crazy.  She just couldn’t remember anything before she woke up.  The world was familiar and terrifying all at once.  She understood things like driving a car.  But other items like cell phones and social media left her completely out of sorts.

Even with the gaps in her memory, lack of marketable skills, and no work history, she got a shitty job at a fast food restaurant.  She considered going to school, but no field of study appealed to her.  It was at a routine checkup when one of the medical specialists, a consultant named Tony Stark, suggested she test for the Jaeger program.  Meg had actually laughed in his face.  Jaeger pilots were young - far younger than Meg.  They started their training in middle school and studied for years.  There was no possible way she could get into the program at her age.  Jaeger pilots were some of the most highly trained military specialists on the planet.  They weren’t waterlogged orphans, quickly approaching thirty, who had been pulled out of the river.

According to both Meg’s patchy memory and wikipedia, America had just entered into World War II when the breach, an interdimensional rift, opened up under the Pacific ocean.  Kaiju were gargantuan dinosaur-like monsters that defied all logic.  The tales of alien invaders attacking from space had been wrong.  The attack came from beneath the ocean, and it threatened to drive the human race to extinction.  The attacks forced humanity to shelve their differences and concentrate on not letting the kaiju destroy our world.  

The first attack, outside of Tokyo, decimated the Japanese military.  It took three weeks and cost nearly ten million lives, before the creature was stopped.  It caught the world’s attention, stopped World War II in its tracks as humanity grappled with the implications.

The next attack came a year later, in San Francisco.  Despite having a year to prepare, the loss of human life and military might was astounding.

Humanity realized the kaiju weren’t going to stop.  Conventional weapons weren’t the answer.  Humanity’s best and brightest - Stark, Oppenheimer, Cully - created a new generation of armament.  Jaegers.  Jaegers were enormous robotic weapons, designed to be piloted, to fight the kaiju, and win.  

Jaegers, unfortunately, were tricky to implement in the theater of war.  The neural load required by the Jaeger pilots was too much for one person to handle.  It had to be split between two pilots.  One to handle each half of the Jaeger.  

To be a Jaeger pilot, you had to have a very specific set of skills, lightning fast reflexes, as well as the ability to interface with the technology.  A lot of the military’s best and brightest couldn’t hack it.  And even if they could, the pair of pilots had to be drift compatible, they had to be able to share a neural connection.  

The more compatible neurologically, the pilots were, the stronger the bond, the stronger the drift, the better the integration with the Jaeger.  Identical twins had the highest level of drift compatibility, and some of them could also handle the other skill necessary to be Jaeger pilots.  But it was rare.  Militaries across the globe were forced to cast a wider net for pilots.  Family connections had the highest level of drift compatibility.  Siblings, parents and children.  As a result, ‘Jaeger families’ were born.  Generation after generation of families were called upon to be Jaeger pilots.

The Jaeger pilots could fight the kaiju and win, decisively.  For decades, Jaeger programs kept the kaiju at bay, and kept casualties to a minimum.  

Now Stark was suggesting that Meg try and break into that world.  Meg was an orphan.  She wasn’t from a Jaeger family.  Sure there were the occasional outliers who joined the program, but it was rare.  She pushed Stark’s idea aside and went back to her life, such as it was.  Crappy job.  Crappy apartment.  She had a couple of deeply unsatisfying romantic entanglements.  At the end of her rope, she finally signed up.  She took an online assessment for the Jaeger program, expecting nothing to come of it.

But two weeks later, she was invited for an in-office assessment, based on her online scores.  Meg aced the tests.  That was how she became one of the oldest recruits ever admitted into the Jaeger training program, and one of the few not from a Jaeger family.  

Being a Jaeger pilot wasn’t easy.  The program was rigorously demanding, both intellectually and physically.  And most of the recruits were a decade younger than Meg.  There were some exceptions.  Scott was actually a little older than Meg.  But they were definitely not the norm.  

Most of the recruits were a close knit group.  They’d been together for years.  It would have been hard for Meg to integrate, even if she’d had any desire to do so.  Meg was the same age as a lot of the instructors, most of them either active or retired Jaeger pilots themselves.  She got along with most of them really well.  But she wasn’t part of the family.  She never would be.  She told herself it was easier that way.

There had been one girl, Colleen, who welcomed Meg when she joined the program.  They’d been bunk mates.  But Colleen was in her last year when Meg was in her first, so they didn’t have much time together.  Since then, Meg hadn’t been too close with any of the other recruits.  She was pleasant, but distant, content to stay on the outside.

  


* * *

 

 

Meg hit the ground with jarring force, her knee smashing into the mat hard enough that her eyes watered.

“Get up,” came the emotionless command.

Gritting her teeth against the pain, Meg pushed herself to her feet.  She turned, facing her instructor, eyes glued to the ground lest she glare at him and be written up for insubordination.  Again.  It was hardly his fault she’d fallen.

She waited for the inescapable lecture.  She didn’t have to wait long, he was nothing if not punctual.  

“Someone tell me why Ms. Carver ended up on the mat,” Rogers prompted the class.

Meg tried not to flinch  It was bad enough that she failed.  She hated it when her shortcomings were turned into object lessons for the rest of the recruits.  But that’s how Rogers operated.  Every single thing that happened was an opportunity to learn, to improve.

“She’s dropping her shoulder,” Hodge offered.  “You can see her coming from a mile away.  She’s telegraphing.”

“That’s a given,” Rogers said blandly, “considering the cause of her form issues.  Who can tell me what that is?”  Rogers crossed his arms over his chest, his vision pinning each of the two dozen trainees in place.  Few of them would meet his gaze and those who did quickly looked away.  “No one knows?” he asked.  He sighed and shook his head.  “Romanoff?”

Dressed all in black, Natasha came to stand behind her superior.  “Carver’s favoring her left leg,” she said plainly.

Meg glanced up at Natasha.  She was good, a stellar pilot.  But nowhere near as good as Rogers, who had literally written the book on the Jaeger pilot training program.  Meg was shocked that Natasha had picked up on the slight hindrance in her movements.

“Yes,” Rogers said with a tight smile, letting the other trainees know that they had seriously disappointed him by not picking up on something he found so obvious.  “Ms. Carver is favoring her left leg.”  

He frowned at the assembled trainees  “You’re distracted.  More than half of you were busy gawking at me and Carver, and you still can’t tell me what the problem is.”  He took a deep breath and released it slowly, looking so tired.  “What do you think it’s going to be like when you’re out in the field?  When all that stands between a category five kaiju and a city of ten million civilians is you?  Assessing stances, movement, has to be second nature to you.  Or we’re dead.  All of us.”  

He clasped his hands behind his back.  “Nat, take them on a run.  Out to the lake and back should be good.”

The lack of groans was due only to the fact that the trainees knew that if they did, he’d double the length of the run.  As it was, ten miles was nothing to scoff at.  As the others filed out of the room, Meg went to follow.

“Not you, Carver,” Rogers said wearily.

Meg stopped short, looking at him.  He gave her a tight smile, gesturing towards the small trainer’s room just off the gymnasium.  She turned, limping.  There was no need now to try and hide her discomfort.

Meg flicked on the trainer’s room lights, looking around the small cramped space.  It smelled like muscle rub and athletic tape, which she found oddly comforting.  It was far more palatable to her senses than the large infirmary in the middle of the training compound.  Meg would do anything to avoid having to go there.  Pushing herself onto the padded table, Meg waited.

Methodically, Rogers shrugged out of the navy blue nylon jacket, leaving him in a form fitting gray t-shirt, a pair of black fatigue pants, and sneakers.  He washed his hands in the sink and turned, looking at her as he dried his hands on a worn towel.  “What did you do?”

“I twisted my knee,” she said quietly.

Rogers looked at her suspiciously before sitting down on the rolling stool and situating himself in front of her seated form.  On the trainer’s table, she was significantly higher off the ground than him.  He braced one hand on her thigh, above her kneecap and the other clasped her ankle.  Slowly, he rotated her leg, testing the range of motion.

Meg hissed in pain and he stopped immediately.

“How’d you twist your knee, Peggy?” he asked, sounding tired.

She frowned at him.  “Peggy?”

He blinked at her, and she had the strangest suspicion that he hadn’t intended to call her that.  He frowned.  “Your name is Margaret.  Peggy’s a common nickname for Margaret.”  He sighed.  “Or at least it was in my time.  You’re stalling.  How did you twist your knee?”

She blinked at him.  Rogers had never, in three years of training, called her by her first name.  And the one time he did, he called her a nickname she didn’t use?  She shook her head sharply.  “Running drills,” she said, not meeting his gaze.

“Which drills?”

She frowned.  “The spinning kick you showed us yesterday,” she admitted.

He was quiet for a long time and she knew that wasn’t a good sign.  “The same spinning kick that I told you, and the rest of the trainees, not to try unless you had a partner to spot you?”

“That’d be the one,” she replied cheekily.

He sighed.  “I could write you up for this, you know.”

Meg looked down at him, trying to force her expression to be neutral.  Rogers most certainly could write her up for such a blatant violation.  Another write-up would mean three strikes and Meg’s out.  Out on the streets.  With no place to go.  She’d end up right back in her shitty job and shitty apartment, as lost as she was when she woke up in that hospital room nearly five years ago.

Meg didn’t come from a Jaeger pilot family.  Unlike Peter or Angie, Meg couldn’t drop out of Jaeger training and be welcomed home with open arms.  She didn’t have a home to go to.  She didn’t have anyone to welcome her.  She didn’t belong anywhere.

It was the Jaeger pilot life, or nothing, for Meg.  She wasn’t a trainee to pad her résumé or make her C.V. look impressive for some future time when she took a run at public office.  She was a grunt, a lifer.  A career as a Jaeger pilot was the only thing that stood between Meg and an illustrious career spent asking people if they wanted fries with that.

Rogers had been her CO for the last three years.  He knew all of this.  He knew exactly what it was he was holding over Meg’s head.

“I’d prefer that you didn’t write me up,” Meg said quietly.

Rogers frowned at her, his expression shuttered and unreadable as always.  He never gave any insight into his internal monologue.  “You have a problem asking for help,” he said firmly.

“That’s not true,” she countered defiantly.  “I have a problem with arbitrary rules.”

“Oh,” he said quietly, “how could I forget?  You’re never wrong.”

“I didn’t say that,” she snapped defensively.  “I just ... “  Oh, she hated this.  She wasn’t wallowing in self-pity.  Rogers didn’t know what it was like to constantly be out of step with all of her peers, to play catchup on every front, every day.

“You just?“ Rogers prompted.

She looked at him, meeting and holding his gaze.  “You’re always on my case,” she said.  “You’re always pointing me out in front of everyone, using me as the object lesson.  How the hell am I supposed to integrate when I’m continually singled out?  I’m already a decade older than these kids.”

“So the fact that you ignored a direct order and ended up hurting yourself is really my fault?”

“Yes,” she said, knowing she sounded completely juvenile and petulant.

He shook his head, not looking at her as he said, “I know a thing or two about having doors shut in my face.”  He looked up at her, holding her gaze.  He seemed sad.  “Your knee is sprained.  Stay off it for the next week.  If I see you on it again, I will write you up.  Do I make myself clear?”

Meg met his gaze defiantly, holding it for a long moment.  “Yes, sir,” she bit out.

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey,” Sam called from the doorway.  “Is someone in here?”

“It’s just me.”

Sam made his way to the reading area behind several rows of bookcases, frowning down at her.  Meg was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the wall, surrounded by her tablet, books and several notepads.  She had her knee elevated with several pillows, an icepack on top.  

“Is it bad?” Sam asked.

“Yes,” she admitted.  “And I still have to study for exams.  This is ridiculous.  I’m too old for this shit.”

Sam nodded and found a chair, pulling it over.  He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his thighs as he looked at her.  “What’d you do?”

“Sprain,” she said blandly.  “Injured while defying orders, so it’s its own punishment.  All quite tidy, actually.”

Sam’s brow furrowed.  “Defying whose orders?”

Meg snorted.  “Who do you think?  Rogers.”

Sam nodded.  While Meg might be able to talk her way out of insubordination to a lot of the other instructors, Rogers was another beast entirely.  He was strictly by the numbers.  He expected a lot of himself, and of those around him.  He accepted nothing short of a person’s absolute best.  “So that’s three strikes then?” Sam said carefully.

Meg looked up at him frowning.  “Not ... exactly.”

Sam arched an eyebrow.  His relationship with Meg was considerably more casual than his relationship with most trainees.  He and Meg were nearly the same age.  He viewed her as more of a friend than a trainee.  “What does that mean?  Not exactly?  Cap doesn’t play shades of gray.”

She shrugged.  “He told me to stay off it until it heals.  He said if I didn’t, he’d write me up.”

Sam was still frowning.  “But he should have written you up already.  And he didn’t?”

Meg looked at him, clearly at a loss.  “That’s what he said.  I don’t know why he said it.  Surely he cuts other trainees slack from time to time.”

Sam leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest.  Frowning, he shook his head. “No, I don’t think he does.  But it’s interesting that he cut _you_ slack.”

“It’s really not,” Meg said dryly.  “He’s probably trying to avoid paperwork.”

“If you say so,” Sam replied.

Meg looked around.  “I think I left my backpack on one of the tables out front.  Can you grab it for me?”

“Sure thing.”  Sam pushed himself to his feet and walked away.

 

* * *

 

 

Meg sat on the floor of the library, having no idea what to make of what Sam said.  She knew, of course, that Rogers didn’t make a habit of cutting people slack.  But she assumed he probably did it from time to time.  But according to Sam, that didn’t seem to be the case.

Meg had no idea why Captain Steve Rogers might give her any special attention.  She never seemed to rate any special consideration in any other situation.  Not that she hadn’t tried.  It wasn’t like she’d thrown herself at him, exactly.  But she’d made a few overtures, when she was first admitted to the program, which he categorically ignored.

Rogers was buttoned up under the best of circumstances.  But Meg always felt like she was treated to a particularly frosty reception.  Not that Rogers was rude.  He was never rude.  It was more that he was suffocatingly polite.  No amount of work on her part seemed to warm him to her in the least.  She didn’t know why she bothered trying.  He wasn’t interested.  Not in any aspect of her.

Rogers was ... strange.  Even by Jaeger pilot standards, which seemed to attract some eccentric personalities.  First off, he was old.  Chronologically he was close to a hundred years old, though he didn’t look a day over thirty-five.  He’d been on active duty longer than anyone else in American military history, though there were rumors that some Russian pilots were comparable.   Rogers was one of the first Jaeger pilots, the alpha test.  Meg knew there were secret projects, human experimentation.  Presumably, that was the source of Rogers’ lack of aging.  But even taking that into account, he lived a very atypical life.  He was solitary.  According to the gossip mill, Rogers didn’t date.  Ever.  Meg learned the hard way that the gossip seemed to be true on this point.  It didn’t make any sense.  Jaeger pilots needed human connection.  Everyone knew that.  But Rogers seemed to be the exception to the rule.

Meg was the best trainee in the entire Jaeger pilot program.  She knew it.  Rogers knew it too.  Though he refused to acknowledge it.  Any time she messed up, he used it as an object lesson to the others.  Meg didn’t think that he had it out for her.  He wasn’t petty.  But he definitely didn’t hesitate to push her hard.  Harder than he pushed the other trainees, in Meg’s opinion.

Meg wished like hell that she could just write Rogers off.  Or that she could have a completely professional relationship with him, like the one she shared with Natasha.  But in spite of Meg’s best efforts, she felt so drawn to him.  For reasons that eluded her.  He was handsome.  But lots of men were handsome and they didn’t haunt Meg the way Steve Rogers did.  She wanted him.  And it wasn’t just some animalistic urge.  

And all the while Rogers treated her so ... professionally.  She was a recruit, a trainee.  Nothing more.

Except that Meg thought sometimes there was something more.  Not often.  It was so rare, in fact, that she often thought she imagined it.  But there were a handful of times when she caught him watching her with such longing.  The minute their eyes met, of course, it was gone.  Like it never happened.

Meg looked forward to graduation, when she would be given a real assignment.  With her marks, maybe she’d be posted to San Francisco.  Or even Sydney.  And she wouldn’t have to see Steve Rogers every day, and his accompanying cavalcade of emotional turmoil.

 

**END CHAPTER**


	2. Chapter 2

Rogers frowned at her, and Meg handed him the note.  “Cho signed off on it,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.  “I’m clear to practice again.”

He looked at the note and then nodded.  Lifting two fingers to his lips, he whistled sharply, the sound echoing loudly in the large space.  "Circle!" he bellowed.

Meg watched as he walked over to an elevated area of the gym that was used for one on one sparring.  As part of their training, the recruits sparred every Friday afternoon, in front of the group.  The circular platform was about fifteen feet across, elevated only a foot and half off the floor.  Rogers stood on it, looking at the assembled trainees ringing the edge.  "Parker,” he said, "you and Jones are up.”

Meg stood with the other trainees, watching the matches.  They traded off every three minutes, Natasha keeping score, Rogers keeping watch.  Meg was paired with Cage, and then Angie.  In her third round, she drew Jarod Hodge and suppressed a groan.  Hodge hated her.  Sparring with him was always more of a pain in the ass than it needed to be.

Meg and Hodge circled one another.  Hodge seemed to be laboring under the illusion that he and Meg were rivals.  She had no idea where he got that idea, but she knew he didn’t like her.  Hodge was from a Jaeger family.  Five generations of Hodges had been combat pilots.  He seemed to think that simply showing up should qualify him for service.  He took it personally that Meg consistently outperformed him.  

Hodge threw a punch, which she avoided easily.  She kicked out, catching his knee, hitting him hard, but not hard enough to injure him.  He glared at her, but it melted into a nasty smile.  “Nice accent, Queen Victoria,” he said, so quietly only Meg could hear.

Meg stopped moving and blinked at him.  “What?”  She stood there, flat footed, staring at Hodge without seeing him.  His words jarred something in her mind.  

_Control, pilot down.  Pilot down!_

Hodge’s punch took her completely off guard, catching her across the jaw, snapping her head around.  She went down like a rock, smacking into the mat.  She was vaguely aware of shouts, pounding feet, and then it all went blank.

 

* * *

 

 

Meg regained consciousness slowly.  It must have only been a few moments later.  She heard Rogers yell,  "Take them out for a run."

"Where?"  It was Natasha.

"I don't care," he said, his voice tight.

“What about Hodge?”  It was a male voice that Meg couldn’t immediately place.

“Get him out of here,” Rogers said, his voice deadly calm.  “Before something happens to him.”

Meg listened to the footfalls growing more distant.  Slowly, she opened her eyes, wincing at the light.  She blinked, looking up at Rogers.  He was crouched next to her, leaning over her, watching her closely.  His features were tight.  She could see the grooves between his eyebrows as he frowned.  From this distance, she could see the stubble on his jaw.

“Can you stand?” he asked quietly.

“I think so,” she replied.

Very slowly, he helped her to her feet.  She was still woozy and she swayed, clasping his arm for balance.

Cautiously, he led her back to the trainer’s room, helping her up on the table.  Pulling a cold pack out of one of the drawers, he snapped the plastic, causing the chemicals to mix.  When it was sufficiently cold, he wrapped it in a towel and handed it to her.  Meg pressed the cold pack under her chin, watching mutely as he walked over to the sink and washed his hands.

He turned back to her, standing in front of her, drying his hands with a towel.  Taking a seat on the rolling stool, he tossed the towel into the laundry basket.  He leaned over, fishing around in one of the cabinets for a penlight.  Finding it, he checked the battery.  It was dead.  Rogers didn’t seem to be particularly surprised by this.  Meg watched as he methodically changed out the battery and then clicked on the little light.  Satisfied it was working, Rogers rose to his feet, standing directly in front of Meg.

His movements were slow and deliberate, done in perfect silence.  He placed his hand on either side of her head, gently feeling along her jaw with the tips of his thumbs.  She made a small sound of discomfort and almost absently he shushed her, his voice warm and comforting.  She relaxed a little more, but winced in pain when he pushed against her chin with his thumbs.  Satisfied that Hodge hadn’t accidentally broken her jaw, Rogers’ hands moved to her neck.  He ran his thumbs firmly along the lines of her muscles, looking for any irregularity.  

Meg could hear him breathing, feel the heat of his fingertips touching her so gently.  She was aware of the way he smelled, so comforting and familiar.  She wanted to lean into him, to wrap her arms around him and anchor herself to him forever.  But she stayed where she was, blinking dumbly at him.

“Where do you want Hodge?”

Meg looked at the door, where Bucky stood.  He must have been the voice she heard earlier.  His face was grim, tightening as he watched them together.  He looked from Rogers to Meg, and back to Rogers.

“The brig,” Rogers said flatly.

“His father is - “ Bucky started carefully.

“The brig,” Rogers repeated darkly.  He looked over at Bucky.  “Now.”

“Okay, boss,” Bucky said, pushing off the doorframe.

Rogers turned back to Meg.  “Follow the light with your eyes,” he directed.  She tried to follow it with her eyes as he moved it in a large circle.  When that was finished, he shined the light in both of her eyes, causing her to wince in pain.

“You probably have a concussion,” he said flatly.  “You need to go to the infirmary.”

“No,” Meg said, bristling.

“It’s not negotiable,” he informed her.

“I’m not going,” she said more firmly.

" _Peggy_.”

Meg looked up at him, her bottom lip quivering as she tried not to cry.  She _hated_ hospitals.  She hated them more than almost anything.  The mere thought of them was enough to send her into a blind panic.

He looked at her, leaning in close, his voice gentle as he said, “We’re going to the infirmary.  You have a history of head trauma.  I’m not taking any chances.”  Without waiting for her to reply, he gathered her carefully into his arms.

Meg immediately looped her arm around his neck, leaning into him, pressing her face against his shoulder.  She was shaking, hating that it made her feel weak.  She felt bruised and battered, adrift, clinging to him for stability.  

Meg pressed closer to him.  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been touched by another person outside of the sparring ring or a clinical setting.  There was nothing sexual about being held in Steve Rogers’ arms.  But it was deeply comforting.  He felt sure and solid.  His grip on her was tight.  She screwed her eyes shut, trying to block out everything except the feel of his arms around her.

 

* * *

 

 

Meg was shocked to find Sam waiting at the infirmary when they arrived.  An attendant directed Rogers to one of the exam rooms.  Gently, he set Meg down on the bed.  She had to bite back a frustrated noise when he let her go.  She was horribly aware of how exposed and vulnerable she felt without his touch.  

Sam gave them both a curious look, but didn’t say anything.  Rogers gave Sam a curt nod and then promptly disappeared.  

Sam was good natured about being tagged to babysit, taking Meg’s irritable mood in stride.  He simply sat in a chair next to the hospital bed and chattered about inane topics.  That man was never at a loss for words.  

Meg was a horrible patient, just skirting non-compliance.  She wasn’t sure if the work up she received was typical, or retribution for her sparkling personality.  She had to endure both a CAT scan and an MRI, which seemed excessive.  There were two physical exams and a battery of tests.  All to confirm that had a very mild concussion, the symptoms of which seemed to be improving by the minute.  

They wanted to keep her several hours for observation.  Meg made an irritated noise, laying back on the bed.  

“You can’t go to sleep,” Sam informed her.

She frowned at him.  “That’s not actually true,” she countered.  She sighed.  “Entertain me.”

He smiled at her and Meg knew he was being so accommodating only because she was scared.  “How am I supposed to entertain you?”

She looked at him speculatively, biting down on her bottom lip.  “Tell me a story.”

“About what?”

“Steve Rogers,” she said very quietly, but very clearly.  

Sam nodded and leaned back in his chair, threading his fingers together as he watched her.  His gaze was closed, calculating, like he was determining a risk.  He finally sighed.  “What do you want to know that isn’t already in the text books?”

“I’ve heard the gossip,” Meg said carefully, making it clear she didn’t approve of gossip, in general.  “He’s an alpha test of some kind from WWII.”  She paused, considering her words, considering what she actually wanted to know.  “Why does he stay?” she asked.  “He could do anything, go anywhere.  He could be running any of the launch sites in the world.  Why waste his time here training entitled brats from Jaeger families?“

Shrugging, Sam said, “I assume he must not think he’s wasting his time.  But I doubt anyone other than Rogers could answer that question.”

Meg looked at him, narrowing her eyes.  She took a deep breath, hating herself for what she was about to say.  But she doubted Sam was ever going to be quite so accommodating again.  “Is it true that he lost the love of his life?”

Sam looked at her soberly.  ”Where’d you hear that?”

“Around,” she said, evasively.  Truthfully she’d overheard part of a conversation between Natasha and Bucky that led her to that conclusion.  “Is it true?”

Meg suspected that if she were anyone else, Sam wouldn’t entertain this line of questioning.  He finally shook his head and leaned forward in his chair.  “None of this from Rogers himself,” he said quietly.  “It’s pure conjecture and probably all a lie.”  He paused.  “Rumor has it that he had a girl, back when the program first started.  She was a pilot, another of the alpha tests.  They were partners.  On the field and off.”

Meg swallowed thickly, fighting back the irrational surge of jealousy.  There had been a woman out there, now lost to time.  But she’d had Steve Rogers, in every sense.  He’d belonged to her, and she to him.

“They were the first pair of unrelated pilots to be drift compatible,” Sam said.  “Their neural link was off the charts.  It set the standard for every future generation of Jaeger pilot pairs.”

“What happened?” Meg asked quietly, feeling like she was bracing for another punch.

Sam frowned.  “You know the lone wolf stories?”

“You mean pilots who rode a Jaeger alone?  Took on the entire neural load by themselves?  Sure.  Pentecost, Beckett.”

Sam nodded.  “Rogers was the first.”

Meg blinked at him.  You only ended up with a single pilot if something catastrophic happened to half the pair.  “So the girl.  The pilot.  She - “

“Died,” Sam said.  “While they were linked.  Story is that he brought the Jaeger home.  And her body.”  

Meg swallowed thickly, fighting back unexpected tears.  “So he felt her die.”

“So the story goes,” Sam said softly.  “They say after she died, he was never the same.  He lives an isolated life, despite some concerted efforts to get him back out in the world.  He devotes all of his time and effort to the cause.”  He shrugged.  “But, like I said, only Rogers knows the truth about what happened, and as far as I understand, he isn’t telling anyone.  I’ve never asked him.”  He looked at Meg.  “Maybe you should ask him about it.”

Meg frowned at Sam, looking away.

 

* * *

 

 

It took Rogers several minutes to answer Meg’s knock, which wasn’t odd given the extremely late hour.  Or early hour depending on how you looked at it.  She groaned, thinking how she’d have to be up in a few hours.  Damn them for keeping her for so long.

As he pulled open the door, Meg swallowed harshly.  Steve Rogers stood in front of her, wearing nothing but a worn pair of jeans and a skin tight white tanktop.  Oh lord.  She’d known he had an impressive physique, she’d sparred with him countless times.  She’d been pressed against him only hours earlier.  But it was one thing to know, and another to _see_.

She forced her attention back to his face.  He was looking at her expectantly.  “Can I, uh, come in?” she stammered.

He shrugged, stepping away from the door.  Meg followed him into the apartment.  His quarters were almost as austere as the trainees’ barracks.  It was a basement studio apartment with bare concrete walls and worn, dark wood floor.  There was a single window, next to the door, covered with a heavy curtain.  The furniture all looked old, worn.  The lighting was dim.  It was depressing as hell.

Meg watched as he flopped down into an armchair and then gestured her toward the threadbare sofa.  She sat down on the edge, growing more and more nervous by the second.  She looked at his long form stretched out in the chair.  She couldn’t help but notice his bare feet.  How was he not freezing?

He shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest.  “What are you doing here, Peggy?” he asked, looking over at her.  “Did you sneak out of the infirmary?”

She met his gaze, shocked that he called her by that nickname again.  She wondered why it didn’t feel weird.  A pet name implied a casual intimacy that they did not share.  “No,” she answered as tartly as she could manage.  “I didn’t sneak out.  They released me.  Good as new.”

Rogers didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t seem inclined to argue.  “That doesn’t explain why you’re here instead of at the barracks.”

She looked down at her hands nervously.  “I want ...” she trailed off, then cleared her throat.  “I want to talk to you about some of the things that happened today.  And some things that have been going on since I joined the program.”  She looked up at him again.

He met her gaze.  As usual, his was absolutely unreadable.  Looking away, he sighed, frowning, like he’d been dreading this.  “I didn’t want you in the program,” he said blandly.  ”I was outvoted.”

She blinked at him, completely taken aback.  Of all the things she had considered discussing, this was not one of them.  He hadn't wanted her in the Jaeger program?  

She felt hurt, betrayed, blindsided by the information.  “You didn’t want me here,” she said numbly.

He looked at her and seemed to catch himself a moment later.  He thought that’s what she’d been there to discuss.  He cleared his throat and rallied.  “What did you want to talk - “

“Oh no,” Peggy said, unable to keep the hurt out of her voice.  “We’re not changing the subject.  You didn’t want me in the program.”

He winced.  “You’re good, Peggy,” he said, awe in his voice.  “You’re, without a doubt, the strongest recruit I’ve ever trained.”  He took a deep breath.  “But you’re untethered, boundless.  If you don’t get a handle on it and find some way to root yourself, you’re never going to make it.”

She frowned, so confused and wounded.  “I don’t understand,” she said, anger growing.  “So do you want me to make it or not?”

He looked at her for a long moment before looking away.  Leaning forward, he braced his elbows on his thighs, hunching in on himself.   “Peggy, I’ve trained Jaeger pilots for nearly seventy years.  Most of them come from Jaeger families.  They have roots, resources, bonds.”  He looked over at her.  “The ones who don’t, do you know what happens to them?  Even the ones who are _really_ good?”

She shook her head.

“They die,” he said flatly.  “All of them.  Not one lives to retire.  Some of them are damn good.  But they all fall in the line of service.  Because they don’t have a home, or a center.  They don’t have a place to go once the fighting is done.”

She swallowed harshly.  “So why bother?” she demanded.  “Why train them?  So the program can use them for cannon fodder?”

He shook his head, pushing himself to his feet, looking away from her.  She stared at his back as he dragged a hand through his hair, setting it on edge.  “I train them in the hopes that it will make a difference to even one of them.”

Turning, he looked at her, meeting and holding her gaze.  Slowly, he walked over to where she sat stiffly on the sofa.  He dropped into a crouch in front of her, balancing on the balls of his feet.  He stared into her eyes so intently that she was forced to look away.  

Reaching out, his hand hovered just short of caressing her cheek, but he didn’t allow himself to make contact.  He pulled his hand back, shaking his head.

“You have a chance, Peggy,” he said softly.  “A chance to be happy and safe.  Away from here.”  He canted his head to the side, looking at her, his eyes glassy.  “You have the strongest heart I’ve ever felt.  Why do you want to throw it away on this life?”

Before she could even begin to formulate a reply, he grimaced.  He balled his hand into a fist as he screwed his eyes closed, seeming to regret the words he’d spoken.  He shook his head sharply and abruptly stood.  “You can make it as a pilot,” he said gruffly.  “But if you can’t get past this isolation, all of that heart, all of that potential and power and training, isn’t going to get you anything but dead.”

He turned around, walking away from her.  “You know I train recruits,” he said.  “Do you know what else I do for my trainees?”

Meg shook her head, frowning, trying to keep track of how he moved from one topic to another.  “No.”

“When one of my orphan pilots dies,” he said, “I’m the one who has to claim the body, to bring her back here, and see that she gets a proper burial.  I get the lost souls, the ones with no family to want them, even in death.  I've spent decades burying them.”

Meg could see the weight of that responsibility in the grim lines of his face.  “Pilots like me,” she whispered.

He turned, watching her.  “I’ll get you,” he said thickly.  “One of these days, I’ll get a call and they’ll hand me your body neatly wrapped up in a black plastic bag.”  His eyes were glassy and she could see the muscles flexing in his jaw.  He looked away.  “And that will kill me this time, Peggy.  It will succeed where a hundred kaiju failed.”

“ _Steve_ ,” she said softly.

His head snapped to her and he stared at her, wide eyed.  

She’d never addressed him by his first name before.  She never even thought of him as Steve.  She had no idea what prompted her to use his name now.

He looked away, shaking his head.  “Go back to the barracks, Peggy,” he said wearily.

“Steve, please – “

“Now,” he snapped.  “ _Leave_.”

Mutely, she rose to her feet and headed for the door, unable to stop the tears running down her cheeks.

 

**END CHAPTER**


	3. Chapter 3

Natasha eyed Steve up and down.  He looked like Hell.  No, actually she’d seen Hell before, or at least the breach.  Steve looked worse.  “Rough night?”

“Mind your own business,” he said pointedly.

Natasha raised her eyebrows, but kept her mouth shut.  She’d known he was twitchy about Carver for years.  At first it was amusing.  How many years had Natasha spent trying to find a girlfriend for Steve?  And then Meg Carver walked in and turned his life upside down with a look.

Natasha finally cornered Bucky about it a few weeks ago.  The truth was a thousand times worse than she imagined.  She had no idea how Steve had managed to be as professional as he had, for as long as he had.  She wondered how he’d managed to nail himself to that cross without help.

But yesterday had shaken him up, even more than she anticipated.  As far as Natasha knew, Hodge was being booted out of the entire program, despite his family’s protests.  She knew Steve had to be behind that.  No one else had the pull.

Natasha thought she’d enjoy watching Steve tied up in knots more than she did.  Bucky’s explanation certainly put a damper on her enjoyment.  But even with the horror of the situation, Natasha thought it was good for Steve.  Someone needed to shake him up, remind him that he was more than a soldier.  Underneath it all, he was a man.  Maybe Carver could help find him.

Natasha led the trainees through their drills while Steve hung back, watching.  She dismissed the trainees for lunch and walked over to where he was leaning against the wall.  “Fury wanted me to remind you that the placement paperwork is due today.”

“Shit,” Steve said, his head banging back against the wall.  “I forgot.”

Shrugging, Natasha said, “Forgot?  Or blocked it out?  I heard you took some liberties with the assignments.”

He frowned at her and she smiled brightly in return. As much as she cared for him, she did take a perverse enjoyment in watching his ham fisted meddling bite him on the ass.  Subtlety was not one of his gifts.

 

* * *

 

 

All of the graduating trainees were assembled in the cafeteria.  This was it.  Assignment day.  There were still three weeks to go before the graduation ceremony, but it was mostly a formality.  This was where they learned where they’d be stationed.

Meg was sweating, hands clammy.  For three years she’d put in the work.  Somehow she had never allowed herself to consider that she’d make it this far.  But here she was.  She did it.  She was going to get a posting.

Meg watched Natasha read off names, handing out envelopes.  It was antiquated, but tradition, apparently.  There were nearly fifty Jaeger launch sites around the world.  The better recruits would be posted as pilots at those sites.  Probably not first string.  Maybe not even second string, depending on how deep the roster was at a site.  Kaiju activity was ramping up lately, so most of the recruits would probably see some kind of active duty.

The recruits who didn’t make the cut would be posted to Jaeger command sites, in administrative capacities.  Meg wasn’t sure what to expect, but she hoped.  She hoped to get a posting as a pilot at one of the more active launch sites.  San Francisco, Juneau, maybe even Sydney.  She’d be happy with any of those.

“Carver.”

Meg reached out and took the envelope from Natasha.   Slowly, she opened it.  

Meg looked at the paper, eyes wide.  “Holy shit.”  

 _Hong Kong._  

She got the Shatterdome, working with Pentecost.  This was _the_ posting.  It was unbelievable.  New recruits were never sent to Hong Kong.  Seasoned vets queued up to get in there.

This was so far beyond anything Meg had dared to dream possible.  My God, she was really going to do it.  She was really going to be a Jaeger pilot.  

“Wait,” Natasha said.  She reached over and plucked the paper out of Meg’s hand.  “Here’s the right one,” she said, giving Meg a pointed look.

Meg was so confused.  She glanced at the new paper.  

 _N_ _ew York_?  

She looked at Natasha.  “What?”  

She was being kept _here_ , at the training compound, fourth string, if even that.  She’d never see the inside of a Jaeger.  She’d never do _anything._  She’d be a glorified secretary.

She looked at Natasha, unsure of whether she wanted to yell or cry.

Natasha pursed her lips together, giving her a consoling look.  “Your original assignment was overruled,” she said quietly.  She looked around and leaned in closer.  “There’s only one person in the entire program with the authority to overrule Stacker Pentecost.”

 

* * *

 

 

Rogers opened the door, frowning at her.  He looked like crap.  He must have piloted earlier in the day, Meg knew just from looking at him.   Not that she'd ever seen him after he piloted.  But it was a solid assessment.  Withdrawal from the drift was often difficult.  And it probably wouldn't help his mood any.  “You should be in the barracks,” he said.  “You have early call tomorrow.”

“I need to talk to you about my assignment,” Meg snapped, brushing past him.

He eyed her warily, muttering about Natasha under his breath.  “Please, have a seat.”

She stalked through his apartment and once again perched on the edge of his sofa, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.  She opened her mouth and then closed it, trying vainly to find the words.  She finally pushed herself to her feet, glaring at him.  

“ _You ... asshole_ ,” she spat, finding no other word that properly conveyed what she was feeling.  “I got _Hong Kong_.  And you overruled it so I can stay here and sit around doing nothing.”

Rogers looked at her, his expression unreadable.  He didn’t seem shocked at her outburst.  This did put their conversation from several days ago into a whole new light.  This is what he thought she was angry about.  He thought she’d found out.

He took a deep breath.  “Do you mind if I’m blunt?”

“Please,” she replied sardonically.  She braced herself, knowing he was going to tell her how she’d torpedoed her own posting by being an utter disappointment.

He took a deep breath, pacing the room.  “Pentecost wants you in Hong Kong,” he said.  “Front line stuff.  He’s snapping up every available pilot worth a damn.”

Meg nodded, smiling tightly.  “So you appointed me here, to prevent me from embarrassing you because I’m destined to be a rootless fuckup who you’re going to have to bury. Tell me, is it the logistics of my dead body that are the problem?  Because I can tell Pentecost to cremate me if that’s what you’re worried about.  You can bury me at your leisure.  No rush.”

His frown should have stopped her in her tracks, but she was too angry for that.

He crossed the room, stopping several paces from Meg, clearly frustrated.  “You’re twisting my words,” he said grimly.  He winced, like she made his head hurt.  “Look, I know New York isn’t as prestigious as the Shatterdome, but it’s -”

“ _Hiding_ ,” she snapped.  “New York is hiding.  You tell me I’m the best pilot you’ve trained, but you want me here running third string, at best.  We have _one_ Jaeger here.  And the Maximoffs are already the lead pilots, with Natasha and Bucky as their backups.”  She growled in frustration, glaring at him.  “Nothing ever happens here.  We’re completely off the kaiju grid.  What chance will I ever get to pilot in an actual attack situation?”  She shook her head incredulously.  “There isn’t even another unpaired pilot here.”

Then she stopped, and looked at him.  He was a pilot.  And he didn’t have a regular partner.

He shook his head, clearly following her line of thought.  “I’m sorry, but no.  I’m not drifting with you,” he said firmly.  He sighed, his expression softening.  “There will be other recruits posted here.  They’ll need partners too.”

She ground her teeth together.  “It’s fine,” she said bitterly.  ”I’ll find something.  Even fast food is better than sitting around here, being kept out of sight to spare your pride.”

He looked at her incredulously.  “You’d leave the Jaeger program entirely, rather than lose the Hong Kong posting?”

Meg looked up at him, lips pursed together tightly.  “I truly don’t understand why it matters to you, why _I_ would possibly matter to you,” she yelled.  “The very idea of drifting with me is apparently repulsive to you.  Even if I’m a total disaster in Hong Kong, no one is going to blame you for it.  Pentecost is clearly willing to take a chance on me.”

Rogers stared at her like she was speaking in tongues.  He shook his head sharply.  "Is that what you think?" he asked, seeming taken aback.  "That you don’t matter to me?"

She laughed sharply.  “What else could I possibly think, given how you treat me?”

Rogers looked at her blankly.  “How I treat you?”  He started to move and then stopped.  Then started again and stopped, obviously completely at odds with himself.  He shook his head sharply, taking a deep breath.  He slowly closed the distance, looking down at Meg.

She watched him, afraid to move.  His gaze was shuttered, his jaw clenched tightly shut.  But there was something there, a longing reflected in his gaze.  Slowly, he lifted his hand, his fingertips barely resting against her cheekbone, his thumb gently stroking her chin.  Her eyes fluttered shut and she shivered.

"I have my reasons for changing your posting," he said in a near whisper.  "Trust me, none of them are because I find you repulsive, or I think you can’t do the job."

Meg swallowed thickly, opening her eyes and looking at him.  She parted her lips to speak and had no idea what to say.  She was so angry with him.  But she was so conflicted, so confused.  Before she could second guess herself, she curved her hand around the back of his neck and pulled his head down as she kissed him.

He sucked in a sharp breath.  Meg couldn't think.  What the hell was she doing?  She pushed up on tiptoe, deepening the kiss and he responded with a hunger to match her own.  His arms wrapped around her, pulling her against his body as his tongue snaked past her lips.  Meg made a soft sound.  Her hands found his shoulders, her short fingernails bit into the corded flesh.  

His lips plucked at hers and he groaned, a tremor going through his body.  His hands stroked up and down her back, into her hair, holding her close.  She touched his face, his shoulders, always trying to press closer, ravenous for the taste of him.

Frustrated with her inability to reach as much of him as she wanted, Meg used her grip on his shoulders to turn him around.  She guided him backwards to the couch.  As soon as he sat down, she climbed on top of him.  

He growled, slanting his head and kissing her hard.  His hands on her hips pulled her tighter against him and she shivered in pleasure.  How many times had she dreamed of doing this?  How long had she ached to know his taste, to know the feel of his skin beneath her fingers?  “ _Steve_ ,” she whimpered, breaking the kiss to take a deep breath.

His response was immediate and visceral.  He surged forward, tipping her over on her side, stretching them both out on the couch, length to length.  Her leg immediately went around his waist as her hand fisted in his shirt.  She rocked against him, desperate for more contact.  His hand bit into her hip, pulling her closer as his hips moved against hers.

With a groan, he pulled away, obviously forcing himself to release her hip.  He leaned back, so they weren’t pressed quite so tightly together.

She wanted to weep with frustration, but she felt it too, the need for a momentary break from the madness.  Panting harshly, she rested her forehead against his shoulder.  What the fuck were they doing?  How did this happen?  

She looked up at the ceiling, raking her hand through her hair, trying to get enough air.  “I heard you never mess around.”

He laughed wryly.  “There’s a reason I don’t listen to my own press.”

She looked at him and he met her gaze evenly, his expression soft, open.  She reached out and touched his cheek lightly.  “I don’t understand you.”

He arched an eyebrow and frowned in a self-deprecating manner.  “I swear to you that I have never fooled around with a trainee - or former trainee for that matter.”  He looked at her and sighed.  “I fought this for so long.  I can’t do it anymore.”

She frowned at him.  She opened her mouth to speak and he kissed her again.  She had no idea what his words meant.  She’d felt so lost, ever since she woke.  For the first time in as long as she could remember, this felt right.  Even if she didn’t understand it.

The kisses seemed to go on forever.  When that wasn’t enough, Meg tugged at the hem of his t-shirt until he obliged and pulled it over his head.  She ran her hands over his chest and shoulders and back and he pressed eagerly into the contact.  Jesus Christ, his body was a work of art.  He shivered at her touch, his own touches becoming bolder.  She wondered how long it had been since anyone touched him like this.  

She pulled back and looked at him.  His hair was mussed, his lips swollen and he was panting  “Nothing against your couch," she said, "but it’s a piece of shit.  We should move to the bed.”

He swallowed thickly and looked at her.  “You know what’s going to happen if we move to the bed.”

She nodded.  “I do.  Though in my defense, it would happen even if we stayed on the couch.  At least the bed is more comfortable.”

He shook his head and smiled, laughing to himself.  She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him smile before now.  It warmed her to her toes.  

He pushed himself to his feet and tugged her along.  As soon as she was standing, he scooped her into his arms.  She yelped, and then laughed, hooking her arm around his neck as he carried her to the bed.  

As soon as he set her down, she kicked off her shoes and pulled her shirt over her head, going to work on the fly of her trousers.  His hand immediately covered hers and he made a frustrated noise.  “We have time.”

She looked at him, knowing full well that he wanted this every bit as badly as she did.  “How long has it been since you got laid?”

He met her gaze evenly.  “A very, very long time.”

He expression softened and she pressed closer to him, running her fingers over his chest.  She watched his eyes flutter shut.  “Steve,” she said, “we’ll do slow later.”  

She unbuttoned her trousers and shoved them down her legs, stepping out of them, leaving her in her bra and panties.  He opened his eyes and looked at her, swallowing harshly.  She knew he wanted to argue with her, but looking at her in her underwear, he wasn’t going to.

He reached out and pulled her close, kissing her.  He tumbled them both onto the bed, with her draped over him.  She nipped along his jaw and then down his neck, her hands finding the fly of his trousers and undoing them.  He obliged, rolling onto his side to give her better access.  She reached inside his trousers, stroking him over his shorts and he released a shuddering breath, his fingers biting into her hips.

“Let me take care of you,” she said, looking at him.

He met her gaze, frowning, but the hunger in his features was clear.  He let her roll him onto his back as he kicked off his shoes and socks.  He helped her skim his shorts and trousers down his legs.  Kneeling next to him, she took him in hand, stroking him lightly.  He sucked in a sharp breath, his hand kneading her thigh.  She dipped her head, taking him in her mouth and he gasped, his back arching as he cursed, “ _Peggy_.”

She used her hands and her mouth, working him over without teasing.  Jesus, he was keyed up.  Though that probably explained why he was often such a pain in the ass.  Sexual frustration for days.  He tried to warn her when he was close, but she batted his hand away, taking more of him.  He cursed, hissing her name again as he came.

Sitting back on her heels, she licked her lips and looked at him.  His eyes were screwed shut, his body covered with a fine sheen of perspiration.  Reaching behind herself, she released the clasp on her bra, taking it off and tossing it away.

Steve’s eyes snapped open and he groaned, reaching for her, pulling her down on the bed.  She wriggled out of her panties and then kicked them away.  He rolled toward her and they ended up on their sides, front to front, touching everywhere.  She hooking her thigh around his hip and rocked against him.  He kissed her languidly, nipping at her lips, his hands tracing over her body.  She shivered, pressing closer to him, hungry for the feel of his naked skin against hers.  

His hand skimmed down her body, touching her gently.  Moaning, she arched her hips into his touch.  She had no idea if it was because it had been so long since she’d gotten laid, or if he really was that good, but he knew _exactly_ how to touch her.  She hated feeling so obvious and needy, but Jesus she wasn’t going to complain.  Before she could even ask, he was there, giving her exactly what she needed.  It was mere moments later that she was coming around his fingers, her nails scraping down his back as she bit his shoulder.

He held her until the tremors had passed.  She finally collapsed back against the pillow, taking a deep, gasping breath.  She looked at him and he looked right back, an expression of wonder on his face.

Once the world had righted itself, Peggy tugged at his shoulder.

He pulled back and looked at her, frowning.  “I don’t have any condoms.”

She kissed him, undeterred.  “I’m on the pill and I checked out at my last physical.  Do you have anything I could catch?”  

“Not as far as I know,” he said evenly.

She tugged at his shoulder again, parting her legs as he moved over her, his weight braced on his elbows.  

He looked down at her.  He brushed her hair back from her forehead, studying her features.  “You’re sure you want this?”

She wanted words to reassure him, but she couldn’t find any.  There was no way to express the sense of rightness she felt.  She nodded.

He kissed her gently and she reached down, taking him in hand.  She guided him to her, hooking her heel against the back of his thigh, urging him on.  He pushed against her, hissing through his teeth as he slid home.  Groaning, she arched her back as he moved inside her.  

Once again, he knew exactly how to touch her, exactly how to move, exactly what to say to make her burn for him.  She was whimpering, clawing at his back through her second climax when he finally joined her.

 

* * *

 

 

Meg lay quietly, spent, as he sorted out the blankets.  He covered them both and pulled her close, wrapping himself around her possessively, protectively.  He was pressed along her back and she threaded her fingers through his as they dozed.  

She hadn’t even begun to sort through the implications of what just happened between them.  For years she’d been convinced he couldn’t stand the sight of her, which obviously had never been the issue.  She’d always been drawn to him, and apparently he’d fought the same impulse.  Meg had had a decent amount of casual sex.  Nothing about this encounter with Steve felt casual.  

He pressed a kiss to the back of her shoulder.  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.  “About changing your posting.  It’s just that I want ...”

She turned around in his embrace, looking at him.

He frowned.  “I want you here with me,” he said sheepishly.  “I know it’s selfish.  And unfair.  I can reinstate your original posting if that’s what you want.”

Of all the potential reasons she considered when she found out he’d changed her posting, that was not one that had occurred to her.  She looked at him in the dim light, his furrowed brow, the sadness in his eyes.  

He wanted her with him, and the thought of losing her wounded him, scared him.  She wondered how difficult that had been for him to admit.  

Leaning in, she kissed him lightly on the lips.  “I’ll stay,” she said.  She wanted the posting in Hong Kong.  But she wasn’t willing to give up what she was feeling right now to get it.  She wanted Steve more than she wanted anything.  She didn’t know why, but she knew it was true.  In absence of memories and experience to guide her, Meg had become very adept at listening to her gut.

His expression was somber, but hopeful, and he pulled her closer.  “You would really stay?”

She nodded, kissing him again.  Meg had no idea if she and Steve could make something work.  But she was willing to try.  She couldn’t remember the last time she felt like she belonged somewhere.  He rolled onto his back, pulling her over him and she grinned down at him.

 

**END CHAPTER**


	4. Chapter 4

Commencement was interesting for Meg.  A lot of endings.  A lot of new beginnings.  Most of the trainees, who Meg had been with for years, were on their ways to new postings.  A few would stick around New York.  Scott Lang, for one.  And Jessica Jones, who somehow managed to be even worse than Meg at integrating with her peers.  Steve seemed to collect the problem cases.  Meg was hopeful that she, at least, was able to offset some of the headache she caused for him.  

Meg and Steve were trying to keep their relationship quiet.  But they spent almost every second of their spare time, for the last three weeks, together.  They’d barely left his apartment all weekend.  She hadn’t stayed in the barracks since before they started sleeping together.

At the reception, Natasha walked up to Meg and looked her up and down.  “You’re still here.”

Meg nodded.  There was absolutely no point in trying to deny anything to Natasha.  Even if Meg could manage a convincing lie, Steve and Bucky were best friends.  There was no way Steve was going to keep what was going on between him and her a secret from Bucky - and by extension, Natasha.  “I accepted the second posting,” Meg said.

Natasha watched for a long moment and then said carefully, “I didn’t see your name on the list of new apartment requests.”

Meg pursed her lips together, nodding. “I’m bunking with Rogers.”

Natasha didn’t appear to be surprised, but her expression was earnest as she said, “Good luck.”

The reception didn’t last long.  Most of the recruits had family in town and were eager to spend time with them.  As things were winding down, Meg and Sam were talking.  Sam had seemed shocked, but happy, that Meg was staying in New York.

Steve wandered over to where they were.  He was holding a drink and Meg looked at it.  “What is it?”

“Whiskey.”

She held out her hand and he gave her the glass.  She downed it in one long swallow and then leaned against his side.  He wrapped an arm around her.  Sam arched an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.

Steve leaned down, his lips brushing against the top of her head.  “Are you ready to get out of here?”

“Yes,” she said meaningfully.

She waved to Sam as Steve led her to the door.

 

* * *

 

 

“Jesus Christ,” Meg said, drawing in a deep breath of air.  Steve moved her thigh from his shoulder and kissed his way up her body, lingering on her breasts.  She patted his head.  “For someone out of practice, you do good work, Rogers.”

“Thank you,” he said dryly.  “But we’re not done yet.”

“Are you trying to kill me?” she whimpered.

“Definitely not,” he said, moving farther up, nuzzling under her jaw.

“Are you trying to get back at me for making the crack about you being out of practice?’’

He laughed silently.  “Maybe.  But I promise you’ll like it.”

 

* * *

 

 

The Jaeger training program went year round, but they got a break after graduation.  Six weeks off.  Most of the trainees headed home to family, some did internships at other launch sites.  The New York site pretty much shut down as the instructors took R&R.

Meg didn’t have anywhere to go to.  She’d lived in the city after she woke, but the second she was accepted into the program, she gave up her sublet.  She hadn’t really had any friends to speak of, certainly not any that survived her grueling training schedule.

Steve was from Brooklyn, but he didn’t keep a place there.  He lived at the launch site, and had for years.  

Meg was laying on the bed, looking at the tablet.  “We could go to Niagara Falls.”

He didn’t bother looking at her.  “Why?”

“Because it’s a ridiculous touristy thing to do that's not going into the city.  Plus, if I’ve ever seen the falls, I don’t remember it.”  She sighed, rolling onto her back.  “We need to get out of here for a few days.”

He finally looked at her.  “Do you really want to go to Niagara Falls?”

“Why not?”

He winced.  “It’s a six hour drive.”

She blinked at him.  “Steve, we have to get out of this basement for a few days.”

In the end, Steve relented.  Meg suggested inviting Bucky and Natasha, who accepted.  The trip was enjoyable.  It was mildly amusing to see Natasha and Bucky bust Steve’s chops.  But Meg found herself feeling overprotective of him, and she was somewhat glad when they dropped Bucky and Natasha at the casino.

Meg liked getting to know Steve away from the training site.  She realized more with each passing day just how much he had walled himself off from her when she was a trainee, how much of himself he had hidden and bottled up.  

With her, Steve was open and kind.  He made her laugh.  

But he wasn’t without his faults.  Steve was cheap.

Meg made the mistake of letting Steve book rooms at a budget motel.  She hadn’t planned on it being quite _that_ budget.  It wasn’t like she had posh standards.  The apartment she shared with Steve was a cave.  Her apartment in New York, before she joined the program, had been an illegal sublet in a shoebox she shared with four other roommates.  But this hotel room was a horror.

Steve used the key - an actual key, on a blue plastic keyring - to open the door.  Meg was afraid to set down her backpack.  She looked around, disgusted beyond belief.  The room smelled awful.  This had obviously been decorated during the late seventies, to cater to honeymooners.   _Everything_ was pink.  Worn, stained, pink shag carpet; pink flocked wallpaper; pink drapes.  And in the center of the room was a giant pink heart shaped bathtub, large enough for two.  Meg shuddered.

Steve nudged her in the ribs with his elbow and nodded to the tub.

“Are you insane?” she hissed.  “We’d be lucky if all we caught from that was hepatitis.”

“It’s not that bad,” Steve said, forcing a smile.

She glowered at him.

His face fell.

Judging by the outline of peeling paint on the ceiling, Meg was fairly certain there used to be a gigantic, heart shaped canopied bed in the room.  Meg was afraid to hazard a guess as to what happened to it.  It had been replaced by a standard queen sized mattress and box springs, lacking even a headboard.  

She looked at him.  “Steve, we’re not staying here.  Where did Bucky and Natasha get rooms?”

He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.  “At the casino hotel.”

She nodded.  “Great.  Let’s go.”

Steve groused, but he packed up and drove to the casino hotel.  It wasn’t the ritz, but it was at least habitable.  They left their bags and decided to have a look around.  The falls themselves were a sight.  Natasha and Bucky were more interested in the casino, so Steve and Meg had plenty of time to themselves.  

The jacuzzi tub in the room wasn’t heart shaped, but they made do.  Meg suspected they were going to get a cleaning bill for getting water everywhere.  It was totally worth it.

From the look of Bucky and Natasha at breakfast, Meg seriously doubted they’d even seen the inside of their room.  They looked like they’d spent all night gambling.  

The drive back was less enjoyable than the drive out had been, but it wasn’t bad.  Bucky and Natasha slept and Meg annoyed Steve by flipping through radio stations every five minutes.  But all in all, it was a nice getaway.

 

* * *

 

 

“Peggy,” Steve said, punctuating his words by rolling against her, giving her a nudge.

She groaned, burrowing under the covers.  “Go away.”

He sighed, pushing himself out of bed and then ripping away all the covers, tossing them on the floor.  

“You bastard,” she hissed.

“Get up,” he said.  “We have roll call in forty-five minutes.”

“We’re the teachers,” she said plaintively.  Not entirely true.  He was an instructor.  Meg wasn’t entirely sure what she was.

He looked down at her, smiling tightly.  “We lead by example.”

Meg eventually got out of bed and Steve steered her into the shower.  She wasn’t sure how clean they were, but she was considerably more awake, and satisfied, when they finally got out.

It was just over three months since she moved in with Steve and she was still shocked at how easily their lives together found a rhythm.  They seemed to naturally make accommodations for one another.  It made no sense.  As Steve had so helpfully pointed out, Meg had trouble integrating.  She didn’t make connections easily.  And Steve was a loner too.  There was no reason why the two of them should just fit together, but they did.  

It was more than the little things they did to complement one another, like her sleeping on the right side of the bed, and him on the left.  They each instinctively made room for one another in their lives.  Despite the fact that Meg deeply valued solitude, she never saw Steve’s presence as an intrusion.  He felt like an extension of herself.

And the sex.  Jesus Christ, the sex.  Meg had no idea it could be like that.  For all his moral righteousness, Steve Rogers had no shame when it came to sexual gratification.  He was shockingly inventive.  And strong, oh my god.  But for as much as he seemed to instinctively understand her, Meg felt it too.  She knew the things that would drive him wild.  He’d only ever seen her in her regulation issue gray cotton skivvies - and he’d never complained or asked for more.  But she knew the red lace would send him over the edge.  And it did.  Neither of them had gotten any sleep that night.

Steve still wasn’t willing to entertain the idea of drifting with her, but Meg was beginning to realize it wasn’t because he didn’t trust her.  She was pretty sure he was scared.  And, truthfully, she was scared too.  If they were like this physically, what the hell would it be like if they shared a neural link?

“Peggy,” Steve said, leaning down and kissing her before pressing an insulated mug of coffee into her hand.  “Where’d you go?”

She looked up at him and shrugged.  “Just thinking.”

The name was another thing.  He called her Peggy.  Ever since they got involved.  She was fairly certain that he had never called her Meg.  And he never called her Carver now either.  Just Peggy.  Always Peggy.

Meg liked it.  If she’d ever had a pet nickname, she couldn’t remember it.  She liked the way it sounded on his lips.  And she liked that it was private, just between them.

She looked at him.  “Are you sad you don’t have a nickname?”

He smiled and kissed her again.  “It’s not my name that’s the issue,” he said.  “It’s how you say it.”  He took the coffee mug from her and set it on the counter before pressing her back against the kitchen cabinets.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, groaning his name.

He chuckled.  “That’s exactly what I mean.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Carver!” Stark bellowed, arms spread wide.

Meg frowned at him, crossing her arms over her chest.  “Natasha said you needed a guinea pig and she volunteered me.”

He smiled at her, going back to poking the display in front of him.  “I’m surprised you’re still here,” he said with badly feigned nonchalance.  “I’d think that with your scores you could have gotten Manila at least.”

“Who says I didn’t?” Meg asked, sliding onto one of the lab’s stools.

He looked at her, speculatively.  “I heard Pentecost wanted you.”

She shrugged.  “Maybe he did.  But he wasn’t the only one who wanted me.”

“So the rumors are true then,” Stark said blandly.  “You and Grandpa Rogers are living out some less visibly repulsive Nabokov fantasy.”

Meg sighed.  “I hardly think I qualify as a Lolita,” she said.  “I’m thirty-one.”

Stark shrugged.  “One assumes you must not have given Pentecost the same opportunity to plead his case.  I hear the ladies _love_ him.”

“Why am I here?” Meg pushed, trying to get him back on topic.

“I need someone to help test new neural link technology,” he said.  “I think I’m onto something that will revolutionize the way Jaegers are piloted.”

“Revolutionize how?” Meg asked.

“If I’m right, and I am, then one person will be able to handle the load alone.  We won’t need dual pilot pairs,” he said.  “It would effectively double our number of pilots overnight.  And remove drift compatibility from the equation when evaluating new pilots.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Where are we going?” Meg groused.  Steve was leading her across the grounds to the training facility.  It was after ten at night.  No one and nothing of interest was there.

She watched as he opened the doors and then tugged on her arm, pulling her inside.  They went into the gymnasium and he flipped on all of the gigantic overhead lights, which sprang to life with boom.

It was weird being in here at night.  She crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him.  “What are we doing?” she demanded.

He smiled at her and pulled his hooded sweatshirt over his head, leaving him in a t-shirt and sweats.  “Working on your moves,” he said.

She arched an eyebrow at him.  “My moves are just fine.”

“Your spinning kick,” he said.

She frowned, but start toward him, shrugging out of her jacket.  She could appreciate the absurdity of the situation.  Four months ago this had been at the heart of their contentious relationship.  And now, unless she had dramatically misread the situation, she was pretty sure it was foreplay.

“Come on,” he goaded.  “Show me.”

She frowned at him but dropped into a stance.

“Not like that.”

“What do you mean ‘not like that’?” she snapped.  “I’m _standing_ here.”

He shook his head and came over to her.  He walked around behind her and placed his hands on her hips, shifting her body so her center of balance was situated on her front leg, rather than back leg.

She shook her head.  “This feels wrong.”

“It’s not,” he countered.  “That’s why you hurt yourself the last time you tried.  Your form is awful.”

She started to turn around, yelling at him, “My form is - “

He cut her off, twisting her hips so she had to face forward again.  “Awful,” he said.  “Your form is awful.”

There was a whole lot of bickering.  It seemed like whatever Meg did, Steve found fault.  She started messing up on purpose, accidentally clipping him with her foot.

“You need to - “

She caught him behind the knee sending him crashing to the floor on his back.  She immediately pounced, catching his wrists in her hands, straddling his body.  She stared down at him.  “You were saying?”

He lifted his head and caught her lips in a hungry kiss.

 

* * *

 

 

Meg was sitting in bed, propped up on pillows reading when Steve entered the apartment.  She glanced up as he shrugged out of his jacket and hung it up before kicking off his shoes.  As she went back to reading, he slid down onto the bed next to her, laying his head on her thigh.  She was wearing one of his t-shirts and not much more.  Absently, she reached down and carded her fingers through his hair.  It was damp.  He’d showered in the locker room.

“Nat said you were working with Stark again today,” he said.

She grunted noncommittally.  

Pushing himself up on his elbow, he looked at her.  

She shrugged.  “I mostly sat on a stool while he explained how smart he is.”

Steve didn’t seem surprised.  “What’s he working on?”

“New neural link tech,” she said.  “He thinks he can make the interfaces efficient enough that one pilot can do it alone.  No more drift.”

Steve flopped back on the bed, frowning, but his hand worked under her shirt, splaying low across her belly.  He’d piloted the Jaeger today.  She knew that much without needing to be told.  He often touched her, seeming to need physical contact.  Both of them, actually, were touch starved most of the time.  

But any time Steve drifted, he would come home like this, _needing_ to touch her, to connect with her.  Meg had studied the physiology of drifting enough to know that most pilot pairs were drawn to each other after a drift.  They needed to be close, to reassure one another, to slowly wean away from such a profound mental link.  

Steve never seemed to want or need reassurance from his drift partner.  He needed _her_.  “Peggy,” he said, his touch becoming more insistent.  

She tried not to take it personally that he wouldn’t drift with her.  He always came home to _her_ needing assurance.

She pushed herself up on her hands and knees and crawled over to where he was lying on his back.  The look of relief on his face might have been comical if it wasn’t so desperate.  She skimmed her hands up his thigh and over the pronounced bulge beneath his trousers.  He sucked in a deep breath, arching into her touch.  She skimmed her underwear down her legs and kicked it away, straddling him as she went to work on the fly of his trousers.  He helped her, shoving the material down his hips.

She stroked him several times before sinking down on him, slowly.  He groaned the entire time, the muscles in his neck cording, his eyes rolling back in his head.  He reached under her t-shirt cupping her breasts and she arched into his touch, riding him.  It was a heady feeling, that he needed her so much.  She felt overwhelmed by the realization that he trusted her so completely.

“How did you handle drifting before you could come home and let me have my way with you?” she asked, leaning down closer to him, so they were chest to chest, changing the angle of him as he moved inside her.  She nipped at the edge of his jaw.

He cursed, pushing up into her.  “Meds.  A lot of meds.  They didn't work for shit.”

She bit down lightly on the corded muscles of his neck.  “Come for me, Steve,” she whispered.

With a groan, he did just that, slamming her hips down against him as he thrust up into her.  His entire body was rigid for a moment and then he collapsed back against the bed, sucking in a ragged breath.  

She pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth and tried to move off him, but he held her against his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around her.  She didn’t bother trying to get away, lying quiet on his chest.  His hands moved through her hair, then over her back, tracing every part of her he could reach.

  


* * *

 

  


“No, dammit, hold still,” Stark groused.

Meg sighed, but did her best to stand still.  Tony was mocking up a pons and spinal clamp to her physical specifications.  It was a tedious and uncomfortable process, involving a multitude of tiny needles and electrodes.  

Normally the tech would be embedded in a helmet and drivesuit.  For now, Meg was in her t-shirt and fatigue pants and Tony was attaching the hardware to her.  Given that it was on her back, she couldn’t see, but she was pretty sure he’d used duct tape.  

Rather than interfacing with an actual Jaeger, there were cords connecting the pons and spinal clamp to one of Stark’s laptops, which was running a simulated Jaeger environment.  That wasn’t new.  Meg had taken dozens upon dozens of test Jaeger runs in the simulation chamber down the hall.

But Tony, of course, was different.  For starters, he obviously had fewer safeguards than were regularly used in the simulation environment.  When he initially connected the pons, Meg had gotten a jolt and now for the life of her, she couldn’t stop replaying the taunts Hodge had used right before he knocked her unconscious.  She knew the two things had to be related.

Meg knew Tony’s test environment must be significantly different from both an actual Jaeger environment, and the simulation environment.  At the basest level, it didn’t need to create a headspace for two pilots to be able to communicate.  It was certainly an avenue of research worth pursuing.  But she didn’t particularly like the idea of her spinal column being attached to Tony’s experimental software.

“Natasha said I’m supposed to help you.”

Meg turned and watched as Jessica walked into the room, looking as unimpressed as ever.  She did look sober though, so that was good.  Probably.

“Jones, right?” Tony said.

Jessica nodded.

Tony walked over to his laptop and poked a few keys.  “And you’ve drifted before, right?  I mean, not in a simulation environment.”

Jessica nodded again.  “A couple days ago.  With Rogers.”

Tony’s laptop made a noise and he frowned at it, tapping at the screen.  “That must have been interesting,” he said noncommittally.  “Rumor has it he doesn’t take anything into the drift.”

Jessica frowned.  “It was a lot like talking to myself,” she said.  “With one exception.”

Stark looked at Jessica.

“Who the hell is Peggy?” she asked.

Meg felt a crushing pain at the base of her skull and fell forward onto her knees, clutching her head.  She heard people yelling, felt hands tugging at her.  But it was all as if it were happening to someone else.

 

* * *

 

 

_She blinked and looked around the room.  She glanced down at herself.  She was in a hospital gown, barefoot.  She looked out the window, which had a stunning view of a brick wall._

_She knew this place._

_This was the hospital room where she’d spent the better part of a year after being pulled out of the river._

_She turned.  There was a hospital bed in the middle of the room.  On the bed, a woman was huddled in on herself as much as the restraints would allow.  Her head was shaved and her hair was starting to grow back in uneven tufts.  There were networks of scars visible on her scalp._

_She knew she was looking at herself._

_But she had no memory of this._

_This never happened._

_A nurse pushed through the door.  He walked right through her as he made his way to the bed, and the woman.  “How are we doing this morning?” he asked._

_The woman in the bed cringed, trying to curl in on herself, but the restraints at her ankles and wrists wouldn’t allow it.  She flinched away from his touch, whining.  When he did actually touch her, she started to howl._

_The nurse looked at the woman and sighed.  He took a vial and syringe out of his pocket.  He tried to give the injection to the woman but she began thrashing.  He called for assistance.  It took several minutes for more staff to arrive.  The woman howled and thrashed the entire time.  Three orderlies tried to hold the woman still as the nurse attempted to give her the injection._

_The door was thrown open and Steve bolted into the room.  The nurse and orderlies immediately backed away from the bed.  Steve was clearly upset.  He shook his head and crossed the room to the woman.  He started releasing her restraints.  As soon as she was free, she wrapped herself around him as if hanging on for dear life._

_Steve glared at the hospital staff until they left.  He sat heavily on the bed, with the woman in his arms.  Screwing his eyes shut, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head._

_Meg shook her head.  How was Steve here?  Why?  She hadn’t met him until she enrolled in the Jaeger training program.  What the fuck was going on?_

_The woman was saying “Steve”, over and over.  Steve looked like he was barely holding it together._

_The woman, smacked Steve in the chest.  “Where’s my baby?” she demanded.  “What happened to the baby?”_

_Steve winced, holding her tighter._

_There was a sharp knock on the door and Tony entered the room slowly.  Steve glared at him._

_Tony looked around sheepishly.  “I think I found a way to stabilize her.  That doesn’t involve you, you know, doing ... that 24/7.”_

_“She stabbed herself in the throat with a syringe last week,” Steve said dully.  “They have to keep her restrained and sedated all the time.”_

_Tony winced.  “Yeah.”  He shook his head.  “I don’t -  I don’t know what’s going on.  The initial damage is repaired.”_

_Steve gave him a withering glare.  “This isn’t right.”  He shook his head, holding her tighter.  “Fuck Howard.  And fuck you too, Tony.  Neither of you had any right to toy with her like this.”_

_Tony looked away, staring through Meg, out the window at the brick wall.  He turned back to Steve.  “Look, I think I found away around it, but - “_

_“But what?” Steve prompted, gently rocking the woman, clearly bracing himself for the worst._

_“But it means she won’t have any memories,” Tony said flatly, like he was explaining a new piece of tech.  “Memory integration seems to be the problem.  I can insert a neural block.  Her base personality should remain in tact.  But she won’t be aware of any formative memories.”_

_“Will it prevent her from continually trying to hurt herself?” Steve demanded._

_“It should,” Tony said.  He gave Steve a sobering look.  “But she won’t know you.  She won’t know herself.”_

_The woman howled, shaking in Steve’s arms.  Meg could see the strain on his features, the bleakness.  “She can start again?”_

_Tony nodded.  “Yeah.  But we’ll need to avoid doing anything that could trigger those memories.  At least at first.  Maybe later, once she’s more stable.  But it’d be a risk.”_

_“What does that mean?”_

_Tony’s lips pursed together tightly.  “It means you’ll need to stay away from her,” he said quietly.  “Anything familiar, anything - “_

_“Comforting,” Steve said, his voice hoarse._

_Tony nodded sadly.  “Yeah.  She’ll be on her own.  For a while.  But she’ll be functional.”_

_Steve screwed his eyes shut, gently rocking the woman in his arms.  “Do it,” he said softly._

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey,” Tony said, trying to sound bright, but landing somewhere just short of hysterical.  “There you are.”  He seemed incredibly relieved.

Meg blinked at him.  She pushed herself up on one elbow.  She was in the infirmary on a gurney in triage.  She knew there was more beds on the other sides of the curtains that ringed the gurney.  She instinctively looked at her wrists and ankles, assuring herself that she wasn’t in restraints.  “What happened?”

Tony shook his head, frowning.  “I’m not sure, entirely.  How are you feeling?”

Meg took stock of herself, frowning.  She felt like shit.  Her head was pounding.  But she wasn’t at death’s door.  “I think I’m fine.”

The curtain was ripped back and Steve stood there.  He looked at Tony, and Tony immediately bolted.  “Gotta go.”

Steve watched Tony go.  Meg knew he wanted to give chase, but he looked at her on the gurney and took a breath.  He moved closer to the bed and gave her a gentle kiss.  “Are you okay?”

She nodded.  “Yeah.  I must have passed out.”

Steve sighed and sank down into the chair Tony had just vacated.  He reached forward, taking her hand.  “Jones called me, she said you had some kind of episode.”

Meg shook her head.  “I don’t know what happened.  Tony was testing a new neural interface.”

Frowning, Steve sank back in the chair.  Meg studied his features.  He looked the same as he always did, the same as he had in her ... _memory_?  Her consciousness rejected the idea.  Those things she saw, they had never happened.  

Meg pushed herself into a sitting position, swinging her legs over the side of the gurney so she was facing Steve.  She hopped off the bed.

“Hey,” Steve said.  “You have to wait for the docs to check you out.”

Meg shook her head.  “I don’t.”  She poked her head out of the curtain and looked around.  

_“Peggy.”_

Meg started to step out into the corridor and Steve grabbed her upper arm.  Without thinking, Meg spun around, clawing at his hand, trying to pull back out of his grip, frantic.  “I need to go.  I need to go.  I need to go!” she said, her voice getting progressively faster and louder.

Steve’s eyes went wide and he released her.  

Meg immediately stopped, aware of the pounding of her heart.  She stood in the corridor, looking around.  It was empty.  No one was there.  She looked down at herself.  She was wearing her usual gray t-shirt and navy fatigue pants.  She shook her head and looked back at Steve, absently rubbing her wrists.  “I want to go home.  Okay?”

He nodded mutely.  Carefully he reached out and touched her shoulder.  When she didn’t flinch away, he guided her to the door.

 

* * *

 

 

Meg had no idea what came over her in the infirmary.  She had always hated doctors.  Well, for as long as she could remember, anyway.  But she’d never lost it like that.  She’d attacked Steve when he tried to stop her.

The walk back to the apartment did her some good, helped clear her mind.  But she felt like every time she turned her head, she could just catch the edge of that strange dream.  

Steve walked at her side, her hand tucked in his.  When they got back to the apartment, he stuck close.  Well, closer.  It was a studio apartment, so he was always close.  This was just shy of hovering.  Meg lay down on the bed and he curled against her, holding her.  She suspected it was more for his comfort than her own, though it did make her feel better.

“When was the first time you remember seeing me?” she asked.  She didn’t know what prompted her to ask that.  She turned around in his embrace, looking at him.

He met her gaze evenly and then looked away.  “Uh, I guess it was orientation three years ago,” he said.  “You were wearing that ridiculous shirt with the dog on it.”

Meg remembered the shirt he was talking about.  And she remembered seeing him at orientation.  She’d felt drawn to him, even then.  “You noticed me?”

He blinked, slowly.  “I always notice you, Peggy.”

Not knowing how to respond to that, she pressed against him, tucking her head under his chin.  She dozed for a while.  She didn’t think Steve actually slept, but he stayed where he was, wrapped around her.  She finally pushed herself out of bed.  It didn’t take much to convince Steve to take her into town to get a pizza.

Their evening was quiet.  Meg did some laundry, sorted through a bunch of computer files she’d been needing to organize for months.  Every time she turned around, she nearly tripped over Steve.  

She finally went and took a shower, alone.  She locked the door, needing just a tiny bit of space from him.  In the shower, she let the water wash over her head.  Cautiously, she lifted her hands, threading her fingers through her hair, tracing over her scalp.  She did this every time she washed her hair, but this time, she paid attention.  She felt the faintest ridges, barely perceptible.  Scars.  The same scars she’d seen on the woman in her dream.

She cursed, sitting down in the shower, drawing her knees up and wrapping her arms around herself.  She rocked back and forth.   _Shit._

Her dream made no sense.  And Steve had just confirmed that they met three years ago.  She had no logical explanation for the things she’d seen when she was unconscious.  

She trusted Steve.  He was telling her the truth.

She finished her shower and curled up in bed.  Steve immediately joined her.  She kissed him and he needed very little encouragement.  She parted her legs as he moved over her, slowly, kissing her the whole time.  She needed reassurance as badly as he did.

Hours later, she lay awake in the darkness.  Steve was asleep.  She trusted him.  She did.  She just had no idea how to explain the dream.  Or the scars.

 

**END CHAPTER**


	5. Chapter 5

Meg felt _off._  Not sick.  Not upset.  

Uneasy in her own skin.

Several days passed.  Things seemed to get mostly back to normal.  Steve stopped texting her every ten minutes to check in.  Her headache finally went away.

Tony was gone.  No one seemed to know when he’d be back.  She overheard part of a conversation between Sam and Natasha that made her think Tony and Steve must have had a hell of an argument recently.

Being unable to help Tony meant that Meg was stuck trying to find ways to keep herself busy.  She tried helping with the trainees, but Steve spent the entire time concentrating on her, so she eventually bowed out of that.  She finally settled for helping Sam.  They sorted through online assessment results, looking for promising new pilots.  It was mind numbing, but it gave her something to do.  Every now and then they’d go to a junior high or an Optimists club meeting and she’d watch Sam give a speech on the Jaeger program.

No matter what she did, Meg couldn’t shake the feeling that her dream had profound implications.  She didn’t mention it to anyone.  She was afraid they’d think she was crazy.  She was afraid they’d lock her up in that room, for real.  So she kept it to herself.

If the dream was real -  She couldn’t even finish the thought.  The idea raised more questions than it answered.  It gave her no more insight into who she really was.

And it would mean that Steve was lying to her.

 

* * *

 

 

“What do you think about kids?”

Steve stopped in the middle of the act of hanging up his jacket and looked at her.  “Why?”  He hung up the jacket and took a seat on the couch with her.

“Just wondering,” she said.

He frowned at her.  “Did something happen that I should know about?"

She shook her head.  “No.”  She paused.  “Well, maybe, I guess.”

His brow furrowed.

She sighed.  “When I woke up,” she said.  “You know, after the river.  According to my bloodwork, the doctors said I’d been pregnant.”  She pursed her lips together.  “But I never had a baby.”  She shook her head.  “I don’t know if I had a miscarriage.  Or an abortion.”  

He winced.

“It got me wondering,” she said, “especially since we’re sleeping together.”  She looked at him.  “Do you want kids?”

He opened his mouth to say something and then snapped it shut.  He rubbed his forehead with his hand.  “Maybe we could try a dog first?”

She blinked at him.  “That’s your thoughts on kids, Steve?  Maybe we should get a dog?”

He frowned.  “Are we in a hurry for some reason?”

She sighed, sinking back against the couch cushions.  “No, it’s just - “

He inched closer, took her hand.  “What?”

She shook her head.  “I don’t know,” she said seriously.  And she didn’t.  She didn’t know.  She didn’t have any sort of reasonable explanation for why this was suddenly an issue.  She’d never particularly wanted kids.  Not even after she and Steve started sleeping together.  They were very careful with birth control.  Accidents weren’t an issue.  It wasn’t that she _didn’t_ want kids.  Mostly, she was indifferent.  

But suddenly it was very important for her to know what _he_ thought about it.  “I’m sorry,” she said, frustrated.  “There’s no reason.  I just wondered.”

  


* * *

 

 

Meg couldn’t let it rest.  She felt like some unhinged conspiracy theorist.  There was a perfectly rational explanation for her hallucination.  Tony Stark hooked her central nervous system up to an electrical outlet and zapped her.  Neurons were firing all over the place.  That was more than a sufficient answer for the source of her strange “dream”.

Except that she didn’t think it was a dream.  

Even now, six weeks after it happened, she was still fixated on the memory.  And she was more certain, with every day that passed, that it was a _memory_.

When she asked Steve about the first time they met, he answered with exactly the same story she remembered.  They met at orientation, the first day she was a trainee.  He even remembered the shirt she was wearing.

She knew he was lying.  

Steve was scared when she freaked out in the infirmary.  Which made sense.  He cared about her, a lot.  Steve hadn’t said in so many words, that he loved her, but Meg knew.  She knew how much she meant to him.  There was no question.

But the way he’d looked at her that day, he wasn’t just worried.  He was terrified.  And Meg was pretty damn sure that he’d been terrified she would freak out like the woman in her dream.

She moved around their tiny apartment, putting dishes away.  The door opened and Steve walked in.  She knew, in a moment, that he’d piloted.  There was a way the drivesuits smelled.  Maybe it was the relay gel.  She wasn’t sure.  But there was a very definite scent to him when he’d been in the Jaeger.

He immediately crossed the room, wrapping his arms around her, burying his nose at the nape of her neck and inhaling deeply.  She finished putting the glasses away, with him wrapped around her.  She pushed the dishwasher shut with her foot and turned in his embrace.  He immediately leaned into her and she scraped her nails over his scalp, making him shiver.   _“Peggy.”_

He stepped away, trying to pull her toward the bed, but she stayed where she was, looking at him.  “Why won’t you drift with me?”

He looked at her, wincing.  She knew his central nervous system was overloaded from having been in the Jaeger.  He needed connection and touch.  He needed her.

But she wanted answers, dammit.  “Why?”

He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, shaking his head.  “Can we talk about this later?”

“No,” she said.  “Now.”

He looked up at her.  He took a deep breath.  “The drift is a lot to handle...”

“You don’t take anything into the drift,” she countered.  “That’s what all your co-pilots say.  They say you’re like Pentecost.  It’s like drifting with a ghost.”

He stared at her for a long moment.  “With others, yeah,” he said wearily.  “But with you, Peggy.”  He winced.  “There’s a lot of bad stuff in here,” he said, touching his temple.  “I can keep the others out.  But you - “

She stepped closer, finally understanding.  “You wouldn’t be able to keep me out.”

He shook his head.  “No.  I can never keep you out.  And what’s in here - “  He shook his head again, looking away.

She straddled him as he sat on the bed, wrapping her arms around his neck.  He made a grateful sound, pulling her close.  She kissed him and he responded immediately.  He tugged her shirt off, and then his own.  Meg released the clasp on her bra and tossed it over her shoulder.  

His mouth was immediately on her breasts and she groaned, arching against him.  He toppled them both back on the bed and for a little while at least, her dream didn’t matter.  All that mattered was Steve.

 

* * *

 

 

Meg pushed back from the desk with a noise of irritation.  She wadded up the piece of paper and tossed it ineffectively at the laptop screen.  She’d been over all of her case notes, all of her demographic information again.  And there was _nothing_.  Nothing that could help her.

She couldn’t track down a single person who claimed to know her before she washed up in the river.  Teachers had all retired and moved away, or died.  Former caseworkers were the same story.  And she didn’t exactly have the luxury of trying to track people down given that they were all in England and she was in New York.  She probably could have scraped together enough money for a plane ticket, but for what?  So she could chase ghosts?

Ghosts she suspected had never existed at all.

Meg’s official past was a brick wall.  And she was so tired of banging her head against it.  

She wasn’t going to do it anymore.  She knew her memory was real.  And she was trying to sort through the implications.  She’d clearly had some kind of accident.  Massive trauma.  It meant that she’d known Steve before she was hurt.  But from where?  When?  In her dream, Steve mentioned Howard.  That had to be Howard Stark, Tony’s father.  But Howard Stark had been dead for twenty-five years.  Meg was just a child when he was killed.  None of it made any sense.

Meg knew that Steve loved her.  And Meg knew that Steve lied to her.  Trying to reconcile those two things hurt both her head and her heart, so she wasn’t going to do it.

She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest, looking at the laptop.  Her own past was a dead end.  The only thing she knew for sure was that Steve was part of it.

She pursed her lips together, frowning at the laptop.  Her own past wasn’t giving her anything.  Maybe Steve’s past could shed some light on things.

 

* * *

 

 

It was late afternoon.  Steve texted to see where she was and Meg, truthfully, told him she was in the hangar.  She’d been working here a lot the last few weeks, cataloging old hardware.  She was helping Sam figure out what was still of use and what could be turned over to the National Jaeger Historical Society for preservation.

The hangar had all sorts of things.  Meg knew that boxes and crates of Jaeger equipment and records had been shipped to the New York launch site from all over the country, and sometimes from other countries.  It made sense.  The New York compound was isolated and enormous.  They had a lot more real estate than most Jaeger launch sites.

The issue with all of these miscellaneous crates were that they weren’t well cataloged.  There were a lot of items that were still technically classified Top Secret.  Including records.  

The public bio for Steve was very complimentary, but frustratingly vague.  Meg knew there were more records.  And she suspected that they were probably housed in the hangar.

It was just around the five hour mark, shortly after Steve’s text, that she found something that looked promising.  She glanced at the records, frowning when she realized they were from early in World War II.  She wanted Steve’s history, but she didn’t want to get quite that historic.  She was more interested in the eighties and nineties, in timelines that could have somehow intersected with her life.

But still, this was the first bit she’d actually found about Steve directly.  And she was curious.  She pulled the crate over to the wall and sat down on the dusty concrete floor, reading.  A lot of the reports were heavily redacted, but there was more than enough information and sources for Meg to be able to glean the story.

Meg thought she was hard to shock.  She worked with giant robots designed to fight interdimensional monsters.  And yet, the stuff in Steve’s file defied logic.  She found the picture of him, five foot four and ninety-five pounds.  He’d tried and failed four separate times to get into the Army.  How was it that she knew none of this?

She read about Project Rebirth, about Erskine’s formula.  She read the write up of Steve going into the pod and coming out the man she knew today.  How was that possible?

But the plans for Project Rebirth were put on hold when the first kaiju attacked Tokoyo.  All military R&D was put into ways to defeat the kaiju.  When Jaeger tech was first developed, Steve was one of the first to sign up.  But at that point, they thought only siblings could drift.  They were concentrating on identical twins.  As an orphan, he was put at the bottom of the list.

Of the twins identified, only one set met the minimum specs to be Jaeger pilots.  And they weren’t any good.  The program moved on to siblings.  They had a lot better luck there.  But as the early Jaeger program got moving, the military quickly burned through sibling pairs.  They moved on to parents and children.  Finally, as scientists gained more insight into how the drift work, they moved on to unrelated copilots who were drift compatible.

Steve was one of the first pilots picked for the new program.  He was paired with a British agent who had been tangentially involved in Project Rebirth.  Their neural handshake was better than the majority of the sibling pairs.  Their drift compatibility was phenomenal.

Meg flipped through papers, trying to find the British pilot’s name.  It had to be the girl Sam mentioned.  The girl who Steve had loved and lost.

And then there it was, in black and white, on yellowing paper.

**Margaret Elizabeth “Peggy” Carter.**

Meg stared at the file.   _Peggy_.  Her name was Peggy.  And she was British.

Peg Carter.  Meg Carver.

Steve called them both “Peggy”.

Her insides went cold.  What had Steve and Tony done?  Was she a Frankenstein’s monster?  Did they decide to take some waterlogged girl they found washed up in the river and turn her into a newer version of Steve’s lost love?  Did they hollow her out and try and shove this Peggy Carter inside of her?  How fucked up was that?  Is that what went wrong with the memories?  The fact that they were never really hers?

Meg had no idea what the whole story was, but she’d learned more than enough.  Grabbing the folder, she pushed herself to her feet.

 

* * *

 

 

She slammed the apartment door.  Steve was sitting on the bed, looking at his tablet, but his attention was riveted on her.  She crossed the room to him, shaking.  She threw the folder at him.  He caught it absently, but didn’t look at it, his attention on her face.

She laughed, aware that it sounded shrill.  “I thought it was so ... _cute_ , that you gave me a nickname.  That you called me _Peggy._ ”

He frowned, pushing himself off the bed.

She immediately backed up several paces.  “That was _her_ name, Steve.  You’re calling me your dead girlfriend’s name.  How fucking twisted are you?  Is that why you wanted me?  Because I reminded you of your beloved Agent Carter?  Fuck you.  Meg Carver and Peggy Carter.  What the fuck?  What did you and Tony do to me?  Who am I really?”

“Peggy - “ he started, reaching out for her.

“Don’t call me that!” she yelled, incensed.

He frowned.  “Meg,” he said carefully, looking like he hated saying the name.  “It’s not what you think.”

She laughed hysterically.  “Oh really.  So I don’t remind you of her?”

He frowned.  “It’s not that easy.”

“It is, Steve,” she snapped.  “It is that easy.  Do I remind you of her or not?  Yes or no?”

He took a deep breath and dragged his hand through his hair.  “You ... _are_ her.”

Meg blinked at him, truly confused.  She thought she’d prepared herself for any excuse from him, but this one ...  “What?”

He sighed and shook his head.  He walked past her to the closet.  He dug around for several moments before finally pulling out a small circular object.  Cautiously, he approached her holding it out to her.  

Warily, she took it, opening it.  It was a compass, old and weathered, the needle rusted in place.  But in the lid of the compass was a picture.  Meg’s own face staring back at her from lifetimes ago.

“That’s you,” he said quietly.  “Peggy Carter.”

She shook her head.  “I don’t understand.  She’d be old, she’d be ...”

“Ninety-five,” he said quietly.  “I know.  Your birthday was on April ninth.”  He gave her a tight smile.  “Happy birthday, Peggy.”

She shook her head, backing away from him.  “This isn’t possible.”  But as soon as she said it, she knew it was.  He was proof enough of that.  The human body absolutely could be altered enough that aging seemed to stop.

“Believe me, I thought the same thing.”  He took a deep breath.  “You - “  He stopped, his expression crumbling.  He took a deep breath, forcing himself under control.  “You died,” he managed, his voice hoarse.  “You died, Peggy.  Seventy years ago.  We were connected.  I felt you die.  I lost you.  And it nearly killed me.”

Still shaking her head, she crossed her arms over her chest.

Steve took a deep breath and exhaled sharply.  He walked over to the couch and sat down, head cradled in his hands for a moment.  The he looked up and motioned to the chair.  

She shook her head sharply, preferring to stand where she was.

He sighed.  “It was a three Jaeger op against a Category Four kaiju.  There was a lot of -”  He stopped, taking a breath.  His eyes were glassy and his hands were shaking.  “The kaiju, it -  It went right through the conn-pod like it was nothing.”

He raked his hand through his hair.  “Head trauma,” he said quietly.  “The second you were hit, I felt it.  One instant you were there, we were together.  And the next, you were gone.”

She looked at him, shaking her head.  It wasn’t possible.  That hadn’t been her.

He looked up at her.  “I killed the thing.  I got the Jaeger back to base.”  He shook his head, looking at the floor.  “Brain dead.  That’s what they told me.  Your body was alive, barely, but you were gone.” He laughed bitterly.  “Like I needed them to tell me that.  I knew.  I _felt_ it happen.”

She wanted to hate him.  She wanted to tell him that he was lying to her.  But looking at him, so palpably miserable, heartbroken - she knew he was telling the truth.  Even if it didn’t make any sense.

Slowly, she closed some of the distance between them.  He looked up at her and cautiously held out his hand.  She looked at his hand, tempted.  She desperately wanted to both give and receive comfort.  But she couldn’t.  Not right now.  She shook her her head.

“Howard was like a man possessed,” Steve said quietly.  “He tried _everything_.  Your injuries were so extensive that - “  He stopped, cleared his throat.  “There was no way.  But Howard wouldn’t stop.  He became obsessed with the idea of the drift, the idea that part of you still lived there.  He had my brain wired up like that tree at Rockefeller center, trying to find any trace of you.”

Steve fell silent and shook his head.  She could tell how hard this was for him.  She wondered if in all his years, if he had ever told this story to anyone.  She doubted it.

“They told me you were gone,” he whispered.  “They said there was no chance for recovery.”  He sniffled loudly and shook his head.  “I was desperate.  I thought maybe if you could hang in there long enough for the baby to be viable.  I thought maybe we could salvage something.  It was a pipe dream.  Your injuries were too extensive.  We lost the baby.  And I lost every last bit of you.”

She screwed her eyes shut, hugging herself tighter.   _Jesus_.  She didn’t remember anything that he was describing, but his pain was so raw, so real.  It explained her bloodwork, her scars, and Steve’s reaction when she asked about kids.  She released a shuddering breath.

“I told them to take you off life support, so you could go,” he said quietly.  “They told me it was peaceful.”  He sniffled.  “There was a funeral.”  He laughed mirthlessly.  “I thought I buried you.”

She reached out toward him, but stopped short of making contact.  He looked up at her.  He looked so sad, it broke her heart.  “When did you find out I was alive?”

“Five years ago,” he said.  “Tony called me.  He said he found a project, of his father’s.  Thought I should know.”

“It was me,” she said.

He nodded.  “Howard kept you in stasis for decades.  I don’t know why.  I don’t know how.  Whatever he did gave you the opportunity to heal, physically.  You were alive.  But mentally - “

“I remember,” she said.

He looked at her frowning.

“The hospital,” she said.  “The restraints.  Asking you where the baby was.”

She could tell he was fighting for composure.  His voice was raw, hoarse when he spoke.  “You remember that?”

She frowned.  “Not all of it,” she said.  “Just bits.”

He cleared his throat, shook his head.  “If I had known, I never would have allowed Howard to do what he did.  But I didn’t know.  I swear.”

She nodded.  She believed him.  She didn’t forgive him, but she believed him.

He raked his fingers through his hair.  “By the time Tony called me, you were already out of stasis.  He had no idea who you were, or what the purpose of the project had been.  He said that you kept asking for ‘Steve’, so he called me.”

She had no memory of that, but based on the memories she did have, that made sense.

“Tony tried everything to stabilize you, but it had gone on for months and you were only getting worse.  You hurt yourself.  A lot,” he said hollowly.  “It was clear you were in so much pain and misery and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.”

Steve was a protector.  He’d always been a protector.  She could only imagine how much that had to have devastated him.  

“Tony said your memories were the problem.  He thought that if he blocked them, you might be able to live a normal life.  But he was clear that you needed to be kept away from things that might trigger those memories.”

“ _At first_ ,” she said sharply.

He looked up at her, frowning.

“He said I needed to be kept away from familiar things _at first_.  He never said forever.  That much I do remember.”

Steve’s frown deepened and he shook his head. “Tony was right.  Once he blocked your memories, you woke up.  You weren’t _you,_ but you were okay.  You were a person.  You weren't hurting yourself.”

“That’s why you tried to keep me out of the program,” she said. “Because you wanted me to have a normal life?”

He looked sheepish, guilty.  “I wasn’t willing to risk it.  Tony was guessing.  I wasn’t willing to risk _you_.  I thought it was better that you start new, away from this life, away from the horror and the danger.”

“Away from you,” she said thickly.  “Away from the man I loved, and the life I lived.”

He blinked quickly, his eyes glassy.

“The memories are why you won’t drift with me,” she said.

He sighed, looking utterly defeated.  “I already told you, Peggy.  I can’t keep you out.  I wouldn’t even know how to begin to try.  You’re a part of me.  And those memories, they are traumatic.  I close my eyes and I still see it.  I still _feel_ it.”

“You’re afraid that sharing your memories would cause me to regress, to be like I was in the hospital.”

He nodded.  “Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.  One of the things I’m afraid of.  Mostly I was afraid of losing you again.”  He looked up at her.  “But it seems like maybe I did that myself.”

  
  
  
**END CHAPTER**


	6. Chapter 6

She didn’t get much sleep.  Maybe an hour.  She lay on the bed, on top of the covers, fully clothed.  Steve was on the couch, but she knew he wasn’t sleeping either.  When the gray morning light started filtering through the lone window, it was a relief.

She showered and dressed.  She packed her bag.  She didn’t have much, it all fit in one duffle.  Steve watched her the whole time from the couch, silent.  When she walked to the door, he followed.  She reached for the doorknob.

He put his hand against the door, looking down at her.  “Where are you going?” he asked quietly.

She looked up at him, torn between anger and affection.  She knew he cared.  She knew he was shattered inside.  But she was done being lied to as a form of protection.  “I’ll be around,” she said, pulling the door open.

 

* * *

 

 

Hill looked up, arching an eyebrow as she wandered into her office.  “Meg?”

She swallowed thickly.  “Peggy,” she said.  “My name is Peggy Carter.”

Hill paled slightly, but nodded.  “Peggy.”

Peggy wanted to scream.  Hill clearly knew the truth.  Peggy wondered how many other people knew.  Was it common knowledge among all of the instructors and administrative staff?  Had everyone been in the loop but her?

She pushed the thought away.  She knew Sam hadn’t known.  And she suspected Natasha hadn’t either.  Though Natasha could probably read Steve well enough to get a good idea of what was up, in broad terms.  

But Hill knew.  And most certainly Fury knew.  Tony Stark knew.  Odds were Stacker Pentecost knew.

Peggy dropped her bag on the floor.  “I need an apartment.  Today.”

  
  


* * *

 

 

All of the staff apartments were located in the same section of the launch site grounds.  Peggy chose a unit in one of the newer buildings.  Unlike Steve’s place, it had windows and light.  The new apartment was on the third floor.  It was a corner unit with floor to ceiling windows, a small balcony, and two bedrooms.  It was completely unlike Steve’s cave.

Hill arranged to have furniture delivered from storage.  It wasn’t great, but it was nicer than Steve’s stuff.  And she could upgrade pieces as her paycheck allowed.  Not that Peggy planned on sticking around long enough to upgrade anything.  

Peggy was determined that her life was going to change.  She was going to be a pilot.  She still needed to learn the ropes, the basics.  She’d been so damn sheltered and she’d gone along with it to avoid upsetting Steve.  Well, that was finished.  

She was going to learn the things she should have been learning for months.  And then she was requesting a transfer.  If Steve Rogers tried to block it this time, it was going to be the last thing he ever did.

Peggy drove into town to pick up a pizza.  On the way back to her apartment, she caught sight of Steve.  So now he knew where she was.  Not that she thought it would be a secret for long, given that their apartment buildings were only a couple of hundred yards apart.  She half expected him to knock on her door, but he didn’t.  It was a good choice on his part.

She fell asleep in the second hand recliner, with Netflix playing on her laptop.  She woke up after three with a horrible cramp in her neck and moved to the bed.  It was lumpy and she was lonely, but she’d had worse on both accounts.

 

* * *

 

 

She waited a week and a half before she agreed to Steve’s request to meet.  In the meantime, the bed hadn’t gotten any more comfortable, but she was finally getting the hang of sleeping alone again.  

She missed him.  She forced herself to be honest about that.  She was still so angry.  But she  missed him, even if she hated herself a little for that.  

If she squinted hard enough and turned her head to the side, his reasoning almost made sense.  Almost.  But he’d lied to her.  He’d made the unilateral decision that sending her into the world with no knowledge of who she was would be best for her.  It wasn’t.  She’d spent years of her life feeling so lost, grieving something she couldn’t even remember.  She may not have been that screaming creature, but she’d lived a half-life for years, based on a decision that was never Steve’s to make.

The coffee shop was busy, but there was an outdoor patio with tables.  They found one with an umbrella and took a seat.  He was wearing his ridiculous aviator sunglasses and a hat.

“Take off the sunglasses,” she said.

He frowned at her.

“I can’t see your face, and if you came here to hide then you shouldn’t have fucking bothered.”

He took off his sunglasses, setting them on the table, and turned his head to look at her.  He’d lost weight.  Not a lot, but enough that she could tell.  His facial features were sharper.  “How are you?”

She nodded.  “Fine.”

He sighed, obviously trying to be patient in the face of her anger.  “Natasha said you’re on the roster to pilot next week.”

“Yes I am,” she said.

He swallowed harshly.  “It’s risky with your history.”

“I already got the rundown from Cho.  I’m willing to accept the risks,” she said firmly.  “I stayed here for you, which was a mistake.  I should have taken the Hong Kong posting.  Fury can let me pilot, or they can cut me loose and I’ll take my chances.”

“That’s how it is?” he asked carefully.

She nodded.  

He sighed, frowning.

“You don’t get to make choices for me anymore, Steve,” she said firmly.  He looked up at her, his expression pinched.  She shook her head.  “I understand that you think you were doing the right thing hiding my past from me and keeping me at arm’s length, but you were wrong.  And it was never your decision to make.”

He ducked his head and nodded slightly.  “I’m sorry I lied to you,” he said.  He looked up, meeting her gaze. “I know it was wrong.”

Part of her wanted to go on the offensive, to rip into him.  But she knew he was sorry.  She knew he felt as if he had no other choice.  It didn’t make it right.  But she understood it had never been an easy decision for him.

“Were we married?” she asked, taking a drink of her iced coffee, watching him intently.

He looked at her, wincing, trying to find some thread of logic to her change of subject.  “Not legally.”

She considered his words for a moment and then asked, “What does that mean?  ‘Not legally’.”

He shifted uneasily in his chair, taking a drink of his coffee.  “It means that when you regularly share a central nervous system with someone, marriage seems a little beside the point.”  He looked at her.  “At least that’s what you said every time I proposed.”  He sighed.  “We were together.  In every sense of the word.  Partners.”

She was quiet, trying to imagine the life he was describing.  It felt familiar.  But she wasn’t sure if that was because she remembered, or just because she’d spent so much time trying to imagine it.  “The pregnancy,” she said.  “Was that on purpose?”

“Not on purpose, no,” he said quietly.  “But we were happy.”

She shook her head.  “I don’t remember any of that.”

He took a deep breath and released it slowly.  “It’s probably a blessing that you don’t.”

Frowning, she said, “Fury pulled my files.  My real files.  Hard copies, from Washington and London.  They’re supposed to be here tomorrow.  What should I know before I read them?”

Steve looked at her.  “You have family.  Your older brother, Michael, had kids.  You have great-nieces and great-nephews.  A couple of them live in the States.”

She blinked, trying to take that in.  Family.  She had family.  She studied his face.  “Do they know about me?”

He shook his head. “Not as far as I know.”

She nodded.  “Anything else?”

He shrugged.  “I honestly don’t know.  I know you.  Not your file.  I have no idea what’s in there.”

 

* * *

 

 

Steve stood inside the cramped space of the conn-pod, looking like a wet cat.  He took up a lot of room.  The techs were forced to make their way around him as they helped Peggy and Natasha into the matte black drivesuits.  Each Jaeger had its own distinctive drivesuit design.  Yankee Belle, the Jaeger housed at the New York launch site, had flat black carbon fiber drivesuits that looked like second skins.

The outsides of the suits were essentially body armor.  Even inside the conn-pod, the human body took a hell of a beating.  And, as Peggy already knew, it wasn’t unheard of for a kaiju to breach the conn-pod and attack the humans inside.

The insides of the suits were embedded with electrodes designed to read the pilots’ muscle movements and overlay them on the Jaeger hardware.  It was essential that the pilots could connect with each other, and with the technology.

“You should go to the control room,” Natasha said pointedly to Steve.

Steve didn’t even bother looking at her.  His attention was fixated on Peggy.

“Rogers,” Tony said over the comm, “we need you up here.”

Steve frowned, stepping closer to Peggy.  

She met his gaze.  Her bravado had faded considerably in the last day.  This was her path and she was resigned to it.  She had to learn how to be a pilot again.  But the nagging fear that it might turn her back into that screaming creature from her memory was a sobering thought.  As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she was glad Steve was close at hand.  She looked at him and gave him a sharp nod.

Steve sighed, and turned to go with obvious reluctance.  

The techs finished attaching all the hardware.  Peggy and Natasha put on their helmets.  Peggy waited for the relay gel to flush and braced herself for the interface connection.  Her back arched and she clenched her teeth together as the circuit found ground.

Forcing out a breath, she relaxed into the connection.  She could hear Hill, Banner and Tony chattering on the comm.  

 

* * *

 

 

Steve walked into the control room just as they were initiating the neural handshake.  In addition to Hill, Fury was there, along with Tony.  The conn-pod had already dropped and was in place.  The crawlers hadn’t moved Belle to the front of the hangar like they typically would.  Natasha and Peggy weren’t going anywhere.  It was just a connection test.  Yankee Belle would stay docked in the hangar.

Steve looked at the displays which showed vitals for both Peggy and Natasha.  It looked like everything was well within acceptable parameters, but he was still worried.  He studied Peggy’s EEG readout.  It looked good.

“Neural handshake in three, two, one,” Hill counted down.

Steve hands were sweating and his heart was pounding.  He watched the displays light up as the two pilots fell into the drift.  There was a tense half-minute of silence before Hill said, “Neural handshake is strong and holding at eighty-nine percent.  Romanoff, Carter, report.”

“We’re solid,” Natasha said.  “Left hemisphere calibrating.”

“Right hemisphere calibrating,” Peggy said.

Her voice sounded strong.  Judging from the readouts, they looked good.  

Steve looked away from the displays out the windows, into the hangar beyond.  He watched as Belle’s hands came together in one synchronous movement, Natasha and Peggy acting together as one mind.  The Jaeger bowed, as was tradition.

“Nice work,” Fury said into the mic.  “Stand down.”

Steve stood next to Hill, watching the displays until the neural handshake was dissolved.  The conn-pod disconnected and was hoisted back up to the launch bay. Steve finally turned away.  

He took his time.  The techs were good, but the drivesuits were so complicated that it took at least twenty minutes to extract the pilots.  Tony walked at Steve’s side.

By the time they got to the launch bay, Natasha and Peggy were out of the conn-pod and in the staging area.  Techs were removing their spinal clamps and pons, stowing them for future use.

Steve met Peggy’s gaze.  She looked at him and nodded.  He could see how pale she was, how tight her jaw was.

“How was it?” Tony asked Natasha.

“Okay,” Natasha said.  “A lot like drifting with Rogers.”

“How so?” Tony pressed.

Natasha sat down on a bench while the techs removed the heavy drive boots.  “You’ll have to ask Carter about her side, but from my perspective, she didn’t take anything into the drift.  It was silence.”

Steve and Tony both turned to Peggy, who was standing barefoot as the techs removed her body armor, leaving her only in a thin, skin tight lycra bodysuit which was threaded with electrodes.  She was shaky, sweaty.  She looked up and nodded at them.  “I felt her mind,” she said.  “But it was okay.  The drift was good.  No following the rabbit.”

Tony nodded, making notes in his phone.  He turned away, toward the door.  The techs finished with Natasha’s boots and she headed for the locker room.  Bucky was standing in the doorway, waiting.

Peggy blew out a harsh breath, staring at the ground.  Steve held out a hand to her and she looked up at him.  “Come on,” he said quietly, “let me help you.”

She let him pull her to her feet.  The techs took the crates of gear and wheeled them out the door.  Steve guided Peggy to turn around and he placed his thumbs at the nape of her neck, pushing in small circles.

“What’re you doing?” she asked, sounding slightly dazed.

“Pressure points,” he said, feeling her body trembling.  “It can help cut some of the withdrawal symptoms from the drift.”  He knew it was a half-measure, but it was better than nothing.

She stood there, letting him work the pressure points along her scalp, neck and spine.  Her breathing evened out a lot, but he knew she had to be fried.  He finally released her.  “Go change,” he said, nodding to the locker room.  “I’ll walk you home.”

 

* * *

 

 

Peggy felt like she was about to crawl out of her skin, it was like every nerve ending she possessed was on fire.  She couldn’t stop shaking.  The drift itself had been okay.  She wasn’t sure if it was what she expected or not.  She definitely felt Natasha’s mind, felt them connect.  Mostly she’d managed to stay in the moment, concentrating on piloting the Jaeger.

But the second the neural connection was broken, Peggy was left reeling.  She thought maybe it was similar to phantom limb syndrome.  Her mind and Natasha’s had been ripped apart.  All Peggy knew was that she was fragmented, like some kind of psychic hemorrhage.  She knew that in a real battle situation, adrenalin and cortisol would at least mask these symptoms for quite a while.  However, in a test run, her adrenalin had been nominal.  There was nothing to offset the withdrawal.

Peggy stipped off the bodysuit and showered.  The warm water did absolutely nothing to assuage her symptoms.  Her body was still trembling, her reflexes jumping unexpectedly.  The pressure point work had helped a little.  Maybe.  Mostly she thought it was the fact that Steve had been touching her.  She hated it, but she knew it was true.

She’d seen Steve after he piloted enough times to know what neural withdrawal symptoms looked like.  Peggy had wondered if she would be drawn to Natasha after the drift.  She wasn’t.  But she needed contact and connection, anything to shore up her frayed psyche.  She was desperate for it, for Steve.  She ached for him, literally ached.  She could feel it in her teeth.  Quickly drying off, she threw on her sweats, t-shirt, and sandals.  She didn’t bother with a bra.  

Steve was waiting, like he’d promised.  It was early evening by the time they made it outside and they didn’t speak as they walked toward her apartment.  Unintentionally, she walked very close to him, brushing against him.  He reached out and lightly grasped her hand.  Threading her fingers through his, she felt the slightest bit of relief at the contact.

They walked up the three flights of stairs to her apartment and she unlocked the door.  She walked inside, but he stood in the hallway, looking at her.  “Peggy -”

She grabbed a fistful of his shirt and yanked him inside.  “Shut up, Steve.  You owe me.”

Steve shut up.  She slammed and locked the door, pressing him back against it, kissing him hard.  He parted his lips, touching his tongue to hers as he gathered her close.  Threading her fingers through his hair, she pressed up on tiptoe against him.

With a growl, he pushed off from the door, guiding her toward the bedroom.  Peggy went eagerly, reaching for the hem of her shirt and pulling it over her head.  Steve did the same.  As soon as he was bare, he pulled her close.  She hissed at the contact, the feel of his bare skin against hers.  It was blessed relief, and she arched into his touch.

She pulled him toward the bed and they lay on top of the covers, kissing, rubbing, touching.  He braced himself over her, pushing her down onto the bed.  The contact was exactly what she craved.  Her fingernails bit deeply into his back and he thrust against her.

“We’re wearing too many fucking clothes,” she cursed, rolling him off her far enough that she could shove her sweats and panties down her legs.  Steve kicked off his shoes and socks.  He stood up long enough to shove his shorts and jeans to the floor before returning to the bed.  He grabbed her ankle, pulling her toward him and at the same time as she reached out, pulling him close.

He kissed her hard, as she continued to draw him near, parting her legs.  Bracing himself on his elbows above her, he pushed into her slowly.  She moaned, her back arching, as he pressed forward.  Her body immediately tightened around him, her climax rushing through her with an intensity that left her absolutely breathless.

Steve went still.  Slowly, he kissed her jaw, her cheek, finally her lips.  She was dazed, breathing hard.  Uncoordinatedly, she managed to kiss him back.  Carefully, he started to move.  Her breath caught and she whimpered, clutching at him.  Shifting, he cupped her cheek in his hand, stroking his thumb across her cheek as he continued to move inside her.  He captured her earlobe between his teeth, worrying it lightly.

He was everywhere, over her, around her, inside her.  She lost track of where she ended and he began.  Another climax washed over her and he swallowed her cries, nipping at her lips before his body went taut and he joined her in release.

She was exhausted, spent, only vaguely aware of him arranging them both in bed.  They were on their sides, front to front.  His arms banded around her, holding her against him.  Her shaking had finally subsided.  He pressed a hard kiss to her forehead.  “Go to sleep, Peggy.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was still dark when she woke.  She was so hot, unbearably so.  Rolling away from Steve, she glanced at the bedside clock.  It was after two in the morning.  She looked at him, asleep in her bed.  She could wake him up and kick him out.  She didn’t.

Pushing herself out of bed, she snatched Steve’s t-shirt off the floor and shrugged into it.  Walking to the kitchen, she managed not to trip over their discarded shoes.  She filled a glass with water, drank it, and refilled it.  She sipped it as she made her way back to the bedroom.  

Setting the glass on the nightstand, she felt around on the floor for her sweats.  Finding them, she pulled her phone out of the pocket.  There was a missed call from Tony and a text from Natasha.  Neither were of critical importance.  She set the phone on the charger and then visited the loo.

When she finished in the bathroom, she pulled the bedroom door mostly closed and turned on the light in the kitchen.  She stared at the folder sitting on the table.   _ Her _ file.  She had electronic copies too, but somehow the hardcopy seemed more real.  She’d had it for a week and hadn’t been able to look at it yet.

She took a seat in one of the barstools at the counter and started leafing through the records.  There were pictures of her, as a child, in school, her first job with the military, decoding messages at Bletchley Park.  There was mention of a fiance, Fred.  And then her brother Michael’s disappearance, and subsequent reappearance.  She felt cold, reading through the file, lonely.

Rising to stand, Peggy flipped off the light and went back into the bedroom.  She pushed on Steve until he rolled over and then she turned on the bedside light and resumed her reading.  It was easier with Steve there.  She didn’t remember these items, not really.  But it was so different from reading the entries in her cover file.  These felt real.  Even if she couldn’t remember.

She read about being chosen as an Alpha test, being paired with Steve.  The notes on their paring were interesting.  Nothing firsthand from either her or Steve, but there was an overview from a Colonel Phillips talking about their compatibility and personal history.  Peggy wondered if they’d already been involved at that point, or if it came after.  She looked at Steve, his face half buried in her pillow.  “When did we start sleeping together?”

“After you yelled at me about changing your posting,” he mumbled into the pillow.

“I mean the first time.”

He rolled over and looked at her through slitted eyes, still mostly asleep.  “During the war,” he said.  “After Bucky went missing.  I was trying unsuccessfully to get shitfaced in a bombed out pub in London.  You found me and took me home.  Deflowered me on your parlor floor.  It was lovely.”

Peggy stowed the deflowering tidbit for later.  “Bucky?”

“Bucky.”

Peggy frowned.  “Is this the same Bucky who was so drunk at Niagara Falls that he had no memory of getting married to Natasha?  The one who eats everyone’s leftovers out of the fridge in the training room?  The one who borrows your truck and returns it with the gas tank on empty?   _ That _ Bucky?”

Steve winced.  “It’s a long story.”

“Fucking  _ Bucky _ knew about me?” she yelled.

Steve opened his mouth and she was done.  She jumped out of bed and grabbed his jeans and shoes, throwing them at him.  “Out!”

He sighed, sitting up in bed, but started dressing.  He finally stood there in her bedroom, dressed from the waist down.  He motioned toward her sheepishly.  “You’re wearing my shirt.”

“Get out!” she yelled.

 

* * *

 

 

Peggy had no doubt who was knocking on her door, so she didn’t bother putting on pants before she opened it.  She stood there, looking at Steve, who was holding two coffee cups and a box from Dunkin’ Donuts.  She seriously debated taking the coffee and donuts and slamming the door in his face, but she didn’t.  Stepping aside, she let him into the apartment.

He put the donuts on the counter and turned, handing her a cup of coffee.  She took a sip.  It was exactly the way she liked it.  Bastard.

He sighed.  “You know, I only own six shirts and you currently have three of them.”

“Amazon,” she said flatly.  “You won’t even have to leave your cave to order more.”

“You could move back in,” he countered quietly.

She frowned at him, reaching for the donuts.  She crammed a donut with pink icing and sprinkles in her mouth, glaring at him as she chewed.

He sighed and took a seat in one of the barstools, taking the lid off his coffee and sipping it.  “You’re piloting the day after tomorrow.”

It wasn’t a question, exactly.  “Yes.”

He nodded, looking out the window by the sink.

“Is it always like that after you pilot?” she asked, reaching for another donut.

He looked at her, shrugging.  “It never gets easy,” he said.  “But the first couple of times after you’ve been off for a while are brutal.”

She took a deep breath and released it sharply.  “I’m not going to thank you for fucking me.”

He let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head.  “Jesus.  I didn’t expect you to thank me, Peggy.  But I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

She took a sip of coffee, looking at him.  “Could I have - “ she started and then stopped.

He watched her carefully.

“I don’t mean sex, but would being in contact with Natasha have helped me?”

He shrugged.  “Maybe,” he said, his brow furrowed.  “I don’t know.  Contact with other people never helped me.  Not the way being with you helped me.”  He took a deep breath.  “I think you and I are different.  Something about how we don’t take anything into the drift.  There’s something in our wiring.  We need each other, regardless of who we drift with.  Just one of the joys of being the alpha test.  We’re atypical.”

She frowned.  “You said you drank a lot.”

He nodded.  “I did.  There are some medications too, that can help.  Cho’s good about that, but they all have pretty unpleasant side effects.  The pressure point stuff can help.”  He looked at her.  “I don’t have to be there,” he said quietly, looking away.  “You can get through it on your own.  If you want to.  It’s just ... uncomfortable.  It’ll get easier with time.”

She took a deep breath and looked at his profile.  “Or I could try sex with other people.”

He shrugged, frowning, but then nodded.

“How many people have you slept with?”

He glanced at her and then away.  He took a sip of coffee.  “One.”

“Including me,” she added.  “And I mean sex, whether or not sleeping was involved.”

He took another sip.  “One.”

She winced.  “Jesus, Steve.”

He sort of hunched in on himself.  “I’m not looking to get laid, okay,” he said quietly.  “It’s  _ you _ .  Only ever you.  I just - ”  He stopped, pursing his lips together.

“You just,” she prompted.

He looked at her.  “I love you, Peggy.  I’ve loved you since before I was ever,” he motioned to himself, “ _ this _ .  I know you don’t remember that.  But we knew each other.  And then we got involved.  And the kaiju attack in Japan happened and ...”  He trailed off.  He took a deep breath.  “And then we got paired together in the Jaeger program.”  He looked over at her and shrugged.  “You don’t owe me anything.  And I don’t expect you to feel the same way.  But it’s how I’m wired and I don’t see any point in fighting it.  I’m not going to find someone else.  I’d rather be alone.”

She frowned, feeling overwhelmed and angry and sad.  “Did you know?” she asked.  “About the guys I dated after they released me from the hospital?”

He was hunching again.  “I knew,” he said sourly.  

“And you were okay with it?”

He sighed.  “What was there for me to be okay with?  Tony gave you a clean start.  You’re free to live your life however you want.”

“You’re an asshole,” she snapped.

He looked at her, incredulous.  “What did I do wrong?”

“You  _ knew _ how I felt about you,” she snapped, poking him in the shoulder with her finger, hard. 

He rubbed his arm absently, mouth hanging open slightly, brow furrowed.  “You had no idea who I was.  Even seeing me could have been detrimental to your mental health. ”

“That’s beside the point.”

He frowned.  “So it’s my fault you dated those losers?”

“I never said they were losers.”

He arched his eyebrow at her.  

“Bugger off,” she snapped.

His amusement quickly faded and he looked at her.  He took a deep breath.  “It’s up to you, Peggy,” he said.  “If you want me there the next time you drift, I’ll be there.  If you don’t, I won’t.”

  
  


**END CHAPTER**


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't seen Pacific Rim, this chapter is probably going to be a little hard to follow.

“Jesus,” Peggy swore, climbing off Steve.  She didn’t get far.  He looped his arm around her waist and pulled her back to him.  She didn’t fight him.  She had no desire to do anything but lie naked against him.

His fingers worked along the back of her skull and neck, down along her spine.  She shivered in relief and sagged against him.

“How was it?” he asked.

She lifted her head and looked at him incredulously.  “Are you looking for constructive criticism?”

He frowned at her.  “I mean the drift and piloting, wiseass.”

She flopped onto her back next to him.  “It was good,” she said.  “I think.  It felt okay.  The withdrawal today wasn’t as bad as last time.”  She sighed.  “Is it conceited of me to be disappointed that it wasn’t the most natural thing I’ve ever done?  I thought I’d just hop in and be a pro and that’s not the case.”

“Version changes,” he said.

She looked over at him.

He shook his head in irritation.  “They ... fiddle with things between the different releases.  It’s probably another part of why we don’t take anything into the drift.  We were conditioned on the Mark-1s.  The technology today is completely different.  I mean, there’s still the drift, and the Jaegers.  But the underlying technology has gone through so many revisions.  Every time they release a new version I have to relearn everything, rewire my brain.”

“Oh,” she said.

“It’s also why a lot of pilots only specialize in one release,” he explained.  “A lot of Mark-5 pilots will only pilot Mark-5 Jaegers.  You get the idea.”  He looked at her.  “We’re - “

“Let me guess,” she said, cutting across him, “atypical.”

“I was going to say ‘dancing monkeys’’,” he said.  “But sure.  Atypical.  A lot of pilots flatly refuse to learn new versions of the hardware and software.  We apparently have enough neural flexibility to adapt.”

“Neural flexibility,” she said.  “What a bunch of bullshit.”

He sighed.  “You’re not wrong.”  He reached out and touched her cheek lightly, urging her to look at him.  When she did, he leaned over and gave her a gentle kiss.

She pulled back and studied his features in the waning light.  She sighed.  “How many versions of the Jaegers can you pilot?”

“Every one,” he said with finality.

She pushed herself up on her elbow and looked at him.  “Seriously?”

He nodded.  “Seriously.  Nineteen versions.  They release one about every three to five years.  Some of them were awful.  The Mark-7s were terrible.  Most of the pilots who conditioned on them committed suicide.  The Mark-10s had reactor shielding issues.  Pentecost is still paying for that one.”

She cringed.  “Jesus.”

He nodded.

“How many versions does a typical pilot learn?”

He shrugged.  “Training tends to be needs based.  They probably only learn what they have access to wherever they’re stationed.  It also depends what version they were initially conditioned on.  Pilots aren’t backward compatible.  Whatever version a pilot learns on is their starting point and they go forward from there.”

Peggy considered that for a long time.  The Yankee Belle was a Mark-16.  That meant that anybody who learned on her would only be able to learn the Mark-16 Jaegers and newer.  She frowned.  “Why no backwards compatibility?”

He shrugged.  “Ask Stark.  All I know is that bad things happened when they tried.”

“I guess we must be the only Mark-1 pilots around then?”

He scrubbed a hand over his face.  “There aren’t many Mark-1s around, period,” he said.  “I think that Jaeger Historical Preservation Society has some replicas.  But actual Mark-1s ... most of them were scrapped decades ago.”  He looked at her.  “But as far as pilots, I know there are some Russian Mark-1 pilots still in service.”

“They have people our age piloting?” she asked.

He shook his head.  “No, not our age.  But the Russians never decommissioned their Mark-1s.  They kept them in service for decades longer than everybody else.  So they have some current pilots who conditioned on the Mark-1 tech.”

Peggy sighed, lying back on the bed, trying to take it all in.  What a clusterfuck.  She looked over at Steve.  “You’re on the roster tomorrow, right?”

“Peggy - “

“Just stop by, okay,” she said, not wanting to discuss or negotiate their sex life.  They were pretty emphatically Not Talking About It.  She had no idea what all the sex meant.  Or if it meant anything at all.  Though part of her absolutely knew it meant a hell of a lot.  

“Yeah.  Okay.”  He swallowed thickly.  “Are you wanting me to leave now?”

“No.”

He reached for her again, pulling her close.  “Good.”

 

* * *

 

 

Peggy looked at the email one last time, biting her bottom lip.  This was it.  Now or never.  She hit ‘send’.  

She had no idea when Pentecost would respond - or even _if_ he would respond.  Maybe she burned her bridges with him by turning down the original posting.  But she wouldn’t know until she tried.

 

* * *

 

 

When Steve knocked on her apartment door a week and a half later, he looked like hell.  He’d piloted, she knew.  She stepped aside and he immediately walked in, hooking his arm around her waist, pulling her against his chest.

 

* * *

 

 

Hours later, he said, “Your apartment is nice.”  His fingers trailed across her collarbone.  “I’ve been meaning to tell you that.”

She arched an eyebrow at him.  “Anything would be preferable to that cave of yours.”

He shrugged.  “These units weren’t built when I moved in.  I never saw much point in relocating.”

“And now?” she asked.  “You’ve been spending a lot of time over here.”  This was as close as she’d come to actually discussing what was going on between them.

He looked at her for a long time.  Finally, he said, “I wasn’t under the impression that relocating was an option.”

She looked up at the ceiling, watching the way the light from the window cast shadows as the curtains moved in the breeze.  She and Steve weren’t together.  Except for the fact that they were totally together.  She was still angry.  And officially, they weren’t even dating.  

But he slept over more often than not, even when neither of them had to pilot.  They were still having a lot of sex.  And in those rare moments when she could be completely honest with herself, she knew there was a whole lot more to it than the sex.

Pushing herself into a sitting position, she looked down at him.  “I requested a transfer to Hong Kong.”

He looked at her, but said nothing.

She took a breath and ran her hand through her hair.  “I’m sure you’ll hear about it soon.”

He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.  Slowly, he pushed himself up into a sitting position.  “When were you going to tell me you requested the transfer?”

She shrugged.  “I’m telling you now.”

“Protocol stipulates that transfer requests go through the chain of command.”

“I emailed Pentecost directly,” she said flatly.

He looked away, staring at the window.  “I could deny the request.”

“You won’t,” she said firmly.

He looked at her.  “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do,” she said quietly.

He sighed, slumping forward.  They both knew that if he tried to pull rank again, he might win the battle but he would certainly lose the war.  And Peggy.  

He turned, putting his feet on the floor.  “Kaiju attacks have been getting worse.  Even Tony’s worried.  It’s taken a hell of a toll on the launch sites closest to the breach.” He looked at her, his features grim.  “Pentecost won’t waste any time in making an official request for you to be moved.”

“Does he know about me?” she asked.  “The real story?”

“Yes,” Steve said quietly.  He glanced over at her.  “I hate the idea of you going.”

She took his hand.  Part of her wanted to rail at him, but mostly she knew that he was worried.  He loved her.  She knew that.  “I have to do this,” she said.  

He nodded.  “I know.  I still hate it.”

She leaned closer to him and pressed a kiss against the edge of his jaw.  “No one said you had to like it.”

 

* * *

 

 

Peggy watched the news coverage and read the official reports on the increased kaiju activity.  According to Banner, this happened every ten to fifteen years, activity increasing in waves.  It typically culminated in the arrival of a new class of kaiju.  It was a terrifying thought.  The creatures already defied logic.  The idea that they could get even bigger, wreak even more destruction.  She shivered.

So far, the launch sites in Manila and Sydney had seen most of the activity, but Peggy knew Pentecost had to be stretched thin in Hong Kong.  She hadn’t heard anything yet on her transfer, but she knew it would happen.  He couldn’t afford to turn her away.

Steve moved out of his cave and into her apartment.  She knew he was still deeply unhappy about her transfer request.  Peggy didn’t like hurting him, but she wasn’t going to hamstring herself for him.  She loved him, but she had to live her life, on her terms.  She was living proof that it could all be gone in a moment.

She did wonder what it would be like, being in Hong Kong, without Steve.  Her reaction to the neural withdrawal seemed to be lessening the more often she drifted.  But it was still uncomfortable.  She didn’t like the thought of going through that alone, with Steve on the other side of the globe.  She knew that Pentecost’s crew had their own way of dealing with it, but Peggy knew it wouldn’t be as effective as her own coping mechanism.  Or as enjoyable.

 

* * *

 

 

The sirens blaring pulled Peggy and Steve from sleep.  They threw on clothes and sprinted for the conference room off Fury’s office.  As they entered the main administrative building, all of the TVs were showing live news coverage from the other side of the world.  

Peggy shook her head, looking at the destruction.

Fury confirmed what Peggy had already gotten from the news.  Both the Manila and Sydney launch sites had been wiped out.  Nearly two dozen Jaegers, eighty pilots, and hundreds of support staff were gone.

Combined PPDC forces finally managed to bring down the kaiju, but things were bad.  Very, very bad.

It took several days before a plan was in place.  Fury called Peggy into his office.  His expression was grim.  “Pentecost called about you this morning.”

She waited expectantly.

“I told him you can’t go to Hong Kong,” Fury said.  He held up his hand to forestall her reply.  “I need you on the Melville Island project.”

Peggy blinked at him.  “Melville Island?”  The name made her uneasy, but she didn’t know why.

He nodded.  “On the northern coast of Australia,” he said.  “It’s an old, abandoned launch site.  Hasn’t been used in sixty years.  But Hong Kong can’t hold the line alone.  We’ve been tasked by the PPDC with getting the site up and running as soon as possible.  I’m sending you, Stark and Romanoff with an advance team to prep the site.”

Peggy nodded.  “Yes, sir.”

 

* * *

 

 

Steve watched her in silence as she packed.  She was leaving within the hour on Tony’s private jet, bound for Melville island.  She looked at Steve.  “Some of Pentecost’s crew is there, starting to bring the facility online.  And they’re moving any of the Jaegers from Sydney and Manila, that could be repaired, to the site.”

He nodded, his jaw tight.

Peggy dumped a bunch of socks in her bag and turned to Steve.  He immediately pulled her close, his arms banded around her.  

She kissed him.  “I’ll miss you,” she whispered, frowning.

 

* * *

 

 

Peggy gripped the arms of her seat tightly as the small jet made a rough landing.  The airstrip, like everything else at the facility, had definitely seen better days.

There were a half dozen people in PPDC jackets who met them as soon as the plane taxied to a stop.   Everyone introduced themselves, but there wasn’t much chitchat before they all piled into an old cargo van and headed to the launch site proper.  Peggy looked out the window, toward the ocean.  It was a dark, roiling mass, topped with white waves.  

Somewhere, down there, the breach waited.

The launch site was nothing like the one in New York.  There were a bunch of round top hangars, rusted with age.  There was one gigantic concrete structure.  It was big, but again, not nearly as large as the New York launch bay.  The foundation of the structure was enormous though.  It made sense.  It had been built to house Mark-1 and Mark-2 Jaegers.  They had been far heavier, but not as tall as more current releases.

The van pulled to a stop in front of the round top hangar closest to the launch bay, and they all piled out.  There was a man there waiting, wearing a worn military flak jacket.  “Ms. Carter, Mr. Stark, Ms. Romanoff,” he said, “I’m Herc Hansen.  Welcome to Melville Island.”

 

* * *

 

 

Peggy did her best to pay attention to Hansen’s tour of the facility.  She’d been up for more than thirty-six hours and the thirteen hour plus time difference between the Northern Territory and New York was hell on her internal clock.

Peggy, Natasha and Tony followed Hansen through the hangar.  It looked as bad on the inside as it had on the outside.  There were mountains of crates stacked everywhere, indicating that supplies were being shipped in multiple times a day.  

“We’ll move into the launch bay asap,” Hansen said.  “They’re retrofitting the electronics as fast as they can.  They’ve had teams in there round the clock for the last three days.”

“I can help with that,” Tony said.

Hansen nodded immediately and waved over someone to show Tony where the work was being done.

Peggy and Natasha got the rest of the tour.  All of the ops and comms were in the first hangar for now.  They’d be moved into the launch building once it was up and running.  The next closest hangar was a combination of crew quarters, mess, and training spaces.

There were work crews everywhere, uncrating things, running wiring, getting comms up, as well as more basic necessities like running water, a working kitchen, and sleeping quarters.

Hansen wanted to have a planning session, but Natasha and Peggy had to beg off for a few hours of shuteye.  Peggy was shown to her quarters.  It was spartan, but functional.  There was a decent amount of soundproofing and a solid door.  She wasted no time making sure she had internet access and calling Steve.

“How are you?”

“Knackered,” Peggy said, dragging her hand through her hair, scraping it back out of her eyes.  “I’m sorry to call you so early.”  The connection was surprisingly good, but Steve’s camera sucked.  He needed a new phone.  

“It’s okay,” he said, leaning over and turning on the bedside lamp.  “I wasn’t asleep.”  She could see that he was in her apartment at the New York compound.  He hadn’t moved back to his cave.  She tried to ignore the pleasure that gave her.

He frowned at her.  “How’s the site?”

She nodded.  “Fucked.”  She laughed, a hoarse sound.  “It’s a disaster.  No one’s been here in more than fifty years so it might actually be worse than trying to build a new site from scratch.”  She sighed.  “They’ve moved in eight Jaegers that they were able to salvage.  They won’t fit in the launch bay right now, so they’re just spread out on the grounds.  They need massive repairs.”

“Yeah,” Steve said.  “I saw the damage reports last night.  They’re crating up Belle this morning.  She’ll be on her way, along with the Maximoffs and Bucky.  Pentecost and Fury are badgering every other launch site on the planet for more Jaegers.  I’m headed to Los Angeles today to go through Stark’s warehouses and see what we can find.”

“Sounds fun.”

“Not really,” he said.  “But at least I can get decent food.  If memory servers, there aren’t many dining options where you are.”

Peggy looked at him.  “Have you been here before?”

His lips pursed into a grim line.  “Yeah.  I have.”

She felt icy cold in the pit of her stomach.  She didn’t want to ask, but she couldn’t let it hang over them.  She already knew how much damage things left unsaid could do to them.  “Was this where - “

“Yeah,” he said, cutting her off before she could finish the question.  “It’s where.  Your ... accident.”

She wasn’t sure what to say, so she didn’t say anything.  Part of her was angry, again, that he hadn’t told her.  But what good would it have done?  If she’d bothered to read closely through the file Fury gave her, she would have already known.

He gave her a watery smile.  “Listen, be careful, okay?”

“I will.”  She paused.  “Steve, get a new phone.”

 

* * *

 

 

Peggy had slept, not nearly long enough, but they just didn’t have that luxury.  Tony was still at it.  Apparently his help had pushed forward the rewiring project by weeks.  And his notes on the launch bay retrofit had jump started that project as well.  Tony looked only moderately worse for wear.  Peggy would have had no idea he’d been up for more than two days.

“How long can he go like this?” she asked Natasha.

Natasha shrugged.  “Hard to say.  There’s a betting pool going if you want in on it.”

Peggy snorted, turning her attention to the whiteboard against the far wall.  Hansen had shipments of parts lined out.  Peggy saw arrival times for the second round of crew from the New York site.  It included the Maxmioffs and Bucky, but the bulk was support crew, comms, technicians.  They’d arrive in a few hours.

The repair work on the damaged Jaegers was coming along well.  Peggy and Natasha went outside with Hansen to take a look.  One of the Jaegers was upright.  Peggy looked up at it.  “Striker Eureka?” she said, looking at Hansen.  “That’s your ride, right?”

Hansen nodded.  “She’s the fastest and most lethal Jaeger on the roster.  Me and my son, Chuck, we’re her jockeys.  But Chuck was banged up pretty bad in the attack.  Broke his arm.  So I need a new drift partner.”  He gave Peggy a hard look.  “It’s why Fury sent you in the first wave.”

Peggy nodded.  She’d suspected as much.  Her skillsets weren’t phenomenal, but she was adaptable, if nothing else.  “You don’t know if we’re drift compatible.”

He smiled.  “I said the same thing to Pentecost.  He told me ‘Peggy Carter is atypical, it’s her biggest asset.  I’m betting the future of the world on the fact that she can drift with anyone.’”  He shrugged. “It’s why we need you here.”

Peggy frowned.  “Let’s just hope I live up to my hype.”

From there, they moved into the launch bay proper.  It looked like it had been used primarily for storage over the years.  There were a dozen bays, but only one of them was occupied.  The Jaeger looked old, something for the Jaeger Historical Preservation Society.   Her black steel hull was badly damaged.

“That a Mark-1?” Peggy asked, knowing it had to either be a 1 or 2.  

She didn’t miss the look Hansen shot Natasha.  He nodded.  “Mark-1.  She’s the Valkyrie.”

Peggy looked at Hansen and swallowed thickly.  The Valkyrie.  The Jaeger that Peggy was piloting when she was nearly killed.  The injury cost her seventy years of her life, and her memories.  And nearly cost her Steve too.  She’d had no idea that it was still in one piece.  She had no idea if Steve knew it was still here.

“Are you trying to get her up and running?” Peggy asked.

Hansen laughed mirthlessly.  “We’re trying to get everything up and running.  But she’s at the bottom of the list.  I need you here for Striker Eureka.”

Peggy looked back outside at the massive Jaeger and nodded.

 

* * *

 

 

Tony, and the crew from the New York site, had Striker functional before the day was out.  She wasn’t at a hundred percent, but she was working.  

Pentecost and Fury’s bet had been good.  Peggy drifted with Herc without a problem.  It was nothing big, just a handshake to check for neural compatibility.  According to Coulson, the test was all aces.

Peggy felt like crap after the short drift, but nothing compared to how she’d been several weeks ago.  She’d built up a tolerance, somewhat.  Tony handed her a handful of meds and clapped her on the shoulder.  She didn’t have time to even call Steve.  She wondered if that was a good thing.  Maybe this would give her a chance to wean away from her connection to him, to depend on herself more.

Peggy was on the run all day, trying to triage one problem after another.  Despite the chaos, it was clear they were making progress.  Two more of the damaged Jaegers were repaired the following day.  And Yankee Belle was uncrated.  It would take her a bit to acclimate, but then they’d have another solid Jaeger in the mix.

It was three days before she had a chance to call Steve.  The second the call connected, she knew he’d listened to her and gotten a new phone.  The picture quality was much better.  Which only made her miss him more.  Why did he have to be so damn handsome?

He listened to her recap of the last several days, asking salient questions.  It wasn’t lost on her how much their dynamic had changed with her new assignment.  For weeks they’d been having sex without really talking.  Now, all they had was talking.  It made her realize that there were reasons, far beyond the physical, that she cared for Steve.

He whistled.  “Striker Eureka.  That’s a fancy piece of hardware.  Stark and Banner helped design her.  I didn’t realize she made it out of Sydney in one piece.”

“She didn’t,” Peggy said.  “Not exactly, anyway.  She needed repairs, but they got her up and running.”  She took a deep breath.  “What do you know about Herc Hansen?  I drifted with him earlier, and I read his file.  But I’d like your take.”

“He’s a good guy,” Steve said evenly, confirming Peggy’s impression of Hansen.  “I’ve been on a couple of group ops with him.  I was stationed in Sydney for a while.  He was solid.  But I never had to drift with him.”  His brow creased.  “Was it okay?”

She nodded.  “Yeah, it wasn’t bad.  He doesn’t have a lot of static.”

Steve nodded.  Peggy knew that he knew exactly what she meant.  Neither of them drifted the way most pilots did.  At least not as far as either of them knew.  The descriptions other pilots used didn’t fit either of their experiences.  They could feel the other mind, read it, like a kind of coffee table book left open.  But they weren’t sucked into the other pilot’s experiences.  It was more like background noise, chatter.  And some minds were definitely noisier than others.  Herc Hansen, Natasha Romanoff, they had quiet minds.  Scott Lang was like some kind of bad acid sesame street sing along horror show.

Steve frowned.  “I thought Hansen was paired with his son.  Did something happen?”

“Chuck broke his arm,” she said.  “He’s in Hong Kong while Herc is here helping out.  I haven’t met him.”

Steve’s expression soured.  “If memory serves, you’re not missing much.  That kid always had a hell of a chip on his shoulder.”

“Oh really?” Peggy said playfully.  “And what would you know about that?”

Steve frowned at her.  “Wiseass.”

They were both silent for several moments.  Peggy was aware of the relief she felt, even speaking with him.  She was aware of how much she missed him, regardless of whether or not she wanted to miss him.

“I should go,” she said, before she said more than she intended.

He gave her a tight smile.  “I miss you too, Peg.”

 

* * *

 

 

In ideal circumstances, Peggy and Herc would have acclimated slowly.  First and foremost, Peggy would have been familiar, inside and out, with all of the Jaeger protocols at the launch site.  Then, she and Herc would have sparred until they could anticipate each other’s moves instinctively.  Only then would they have taken Striker Eureka for a test handshake.

As was typical in times of war, there simply wasn’t the opportunity to do things by the book.  The sirens pulled everyone from a dead sleep.  Kaiju.  Hong Kong was on it, but they needed backup.

Peggy found herself being shoved into the textured gray drivesuit for Striker Eureka.  Before she knew it, the neural handshake was initiated and she and Herc were being choppered north toward Manila, along with Yankee Belle.  

 

* * *

 

 

Peggy didn’t release the breath she was holding until the crane deposited her and Herc back on solid ground.  An old golf cart took them back to the main hangar.  She stood still as the techs carefully extracted her from the drivesuit, packing away the interface equipment.  It was at least half an hour before she stood in the middle of the makeshift staging area in her black tanktop and gray leggings, both threaded through with relays.

Herc was dressed similarly and he shook his head, looking at her.  “You did a hell of a job out there, Carter,” he said seriously.

Peggy nodded, wiping her upper lip on the back of her hand.  She’d done okay.  Not her greatest performance.  But considering it was the first time she’d run an op with Herc, and a Mark-19, she knew it was a success.  “That kaiju was a nasty son of a bitch.”

Peggy understood that this wasn’t the first time she’d faced a kaiju in an actual combat situation.  But it was the first time she could remember.  She’d thought Stark’s simulation program was good.  It wasn’t.  That monster had been terrifying, and unbelievably strong.  It was quick, and _smart_.  How could those creatures be so smart?

Herc set a reassuring hand on her shoulder.  When she looked up at him, he gave her a tight smile.

“Come on,” he said, heading out of the staging area, watching to make sure she followed.  When they got to the hall, she broke away, intending to go back to her quarters.

“This way,” Herc said, nodding the opposite direction.  “Standard post-op.”

Peggy didn’t know what that meant and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.  She felt like shit.  Typical neural connection withdrawal.  All she wanted was another handful of Tony’s meds, and to get back to her bunk and call Steve.  Instead, she followed Herc down the hall to the detox room.

The room was quiet, painted a soft gray.  There were no windows and it obviously had considerable soundproofing.  The floors were bamboo and there were two padded tables in the middle of the room.  There were four people, three women and a man, standing there, obviously waiting for her and Herc.

Herc bowed to them and they did the same in return.  Awkwardly, Peggy repeated Herc’s gesture and received the same response.  Herc headed for one of the tables, motioning to Peggy to go to the other.  She watched as he lay down on his back, eyes closed.  She did the same.

“It’s how we process the withdrawal here,” Herc said quietly.  “No meds.  No tech.”

Peggy decided to keep quiet about her favored method of dealing with withdrawal.  One of the women came to stand at her head, the other at her feet and they gently touched her.  It was strange at first.  And she still felt like she was itching to crawl out of her skin.  Nowhere near as extreme as the first couple of times she had piloted, but it was still unpleasant, especially without Steve present.

But slowly, Peggy relaxed into the experience.  She’d had some massage therapy and acupuncture as part of her rehab when she was in the hospital.  But these women seemed to have a much better idea of how to treat her symptoms.  They used some of the same pressure point work that Steve had used on her, combined with massage and acupuncture.  It was close to two hours before they finished.

Peggy pushed herself into a sitting position.  She felt a lot better.  It wasn’t the same kind of bone deep relief she felt after being with Steve, but it was a vast improvement.  And she knew she wouldn’t have the hangover she got from Tony’s medications.

 

* * *

 

 

“How was the op?” Steve asked.  “That’s the longest drift you’ve had.”

She took a deep breath, trying to ignore the bone deep longing she felt at the sound of his voice.  “It was okay.  No chasing the rabbit.  Nothing like that.  We were a decent team.”

“And the Mark-19?  How did it handle?  I know Tony threw every bell and whistle at it that he could, trying to make it lighter and more maneuverable.”

Peggy frowned.  “It’s got a lot of quirks.  I have to talk to Tony about the field of vision the external cameras relay to the displays.  They definitely could have spent less time on the paintjob and more time on the control ergonomics.”  

“Pretty sure that’s a standard complaint on Stark’s designs,” Steve said dryly.

“Yeah, I figured.”

Steve’s expression sobered and his voice was softer when he said, “That was your first time against a real kaiju.”

She shook her head, for the first time allowing herself to acknowledge the horror lurking in the back of her mind.  “That thing, Steve,” she whispered. “It was a monster.”

He nodded and she wished so badly that he could wrap his arms around her.  She tried to shake off the feeling, forcing herself to continue.  “There are scientists in Hong Kong, Gottleib and Geiszler.  They think we’re looking at a double or triple event in the very near future.”

Steve frowned, the muscles in his jaw standing out in harsh relief.  “Yeah,” he said tightly, “Pentecost’s had a half dozen calls with Fury.  And they’ve convened the World Security Council and the PPDC board twice in the last two days.  They’ve come to some similar conclusions.”

Peggy shook her head.  “What’s the kaiju’s end game?” she asked.  “They come here, they attack, destroy.  But they don’t _do_ anything beyond that.  Even if they come through two or three at a time, what’s the ultimate goal?”

Steve’s expression tightened.  “I don’t think any of us are going to like the answer to that.”

She sighed, flopping back on her bunk.  She wished so badly that he was here with her.  “Tell me a story, Steve.  Something nice.”

“A story?” he repeated, sounding confused.

“Something nice,” she stressed.

He sighed.  “I bought more shirts.”

She laughed.

 

* * *

 

 

Peggy needed to be a pilot.  It wasn’t just a job.  It was a calling.  Something she had to do.  There was no other choice.  

But years of training still hadn’t prepared her for the reality of being stationed out of what was becoming one of the busiest Jaeger launch site in the world.  From the moment she woke, to the moment her head hit her pillow, she was working.  If she wasn’t piloting, then she was detoxing.  If she wasn’t detoxing, she was debriefing.  If she wasn’t debriefing, she was helping the tech team with repairs to the Jaegers.  Day after day, week after week, it never let up.

If, by some miracle, she wasn’t doing any of those things, she was being grilled by the lead tech, Ming-su, about first gen Jaegers.  Not that Peggy could provide much information.  Everything she knew was from her training, and what she’d read in Steve’s files.  Her memories, if she still had them somewhere, were locked up tight.

Peggy knew Ming-su had the difficult task of leading the repair team for the oldest generations of Jaegers.  Jaeger technology had advanced so dramatically over the nearly eighty years the program had been in existence, that it was no easy task to work with the antiquated equipment.

Just as Ming-su was getting ready to ask another question, the siren blared.  A moment later, Peggy’s comm crackled to life.  “Carter, report to launch deck ASAP.”

 

* * *

 

 

Peggy looked at her watch.  Ten past midnight.  She’d finished detoxing and was heading back to her quarters.  The op was especially irritating.  It wasn’t a _new_ kaiju.  Nothing came through the breach.  It was a kaiju that the combined Hawaii and Tokyo launch sites had taken on last week.  Apparently they didn’t completely finish it off.   It crawled ashore in Taiwan and did massive damage to half of Taipei before Striker Eureka and Crimson Typhoon managed to end it once and for all.

At least the Melville Island crew finally managed to get the launch bay modified so they could actually dock modern Jaegers in it.  There was no more being ferried back and forth to the conn-pod on a giant crane, for which Peggy was grateful.

As Peggy opened the door to her quarters, she was calling Steve.  He picked up on the third ring.  She could see that wherever he was, tons of people were moving around in the background.  She knew from his texts that he was back in New York.  “What’s going on?”

Steve frowned and moved into a vacant office, shutting the door.  It was much quieter.  He sat down.  “I think we’ve salvaged everything we can from New York and L.A.  Fury has the techs packing all our gear up for transport.”

“Transport where?”

He took a deep breath.  “Melville Island.”

Peggy blinked at him.  “You’re coming _here_?”

“Looks that way,” he said quietly, obviously tentative.  “Fury’s still hammering out the details with the PPDC, but I think it’s a done deal.”

Peggy nodded.  Steve would be here soon.  She was still bitter about what he’d done, but the idea of being able to touch him was nearly enough to make her weep with relief.  She wanted to see him so badly.  She cleared her throat.  “Let me know when you find out for sure.”

“Of course.”  He pursed his lips together.  “How are you?  You look like you just finished piloting.”

She frowned.  “I’m okay.  Like I said, they have their own way of processing the withdrawal here.  Pressure points, acupuncture, meditation.”

He frowned.  “How is it, _really_?”

She shrugged.  “It helps, definitely.  Not as much as our system.  But it makes it manageable.”

His expression was sober, guarded.  “So when I get there,” he said.  “You and me ...”

She waited, refusing to make it easy for him.

He cleared his throat.  “Are we just going to pick up where we left off?”

“Do you feel like things have changed?” she asked.

He took a deep breath.  “I know that I love you, Peggy.  And I know I fucked up.  I’m hoping you’ll give me another chance.  A real chance.”

She sighed, blinking quickly, looking away.  “I’m not willing to commit to anything on a Skype call, Steve.”  She knew it was a cowardly response, but she didn’t care.

He nodded.  “Okay.  But we’re going to talk about this when I get there.”

She nodded.  “Yeah.”

He took a deep breath and changed the subject.  “And Hansen?  You’ve had quite a few runs together.  How’s he working out as a partner?”

She nodded.  “Herc’s easy to get along with.  Honestly, he reminds me a lot of you.”  It was true.  Herc Hansen had that same unshakeable goodness about him that Steve possessed.  Both of them just got the job done without complaint.

“Not too much, I hope.”

She laughed mirthlessly.  “My personal life is enough of a disaster without courting more problems.”

 

END CHAPTER


	8. Chapter 8

Peggy gasped as the tech removed the helmet.  She was shaking all over.  The tech took one look at her, her eyes going wide, and yelled something Peggy couldn’t understand.  A medic rushed in and went to work on the abrasion that apparently bruised Peggy’s left cheek.  That explained why her eye was throbbing.

It was all Peggy could do to stand as the techs helped her out of the drivesuit.  She and Herc had been out there, along with a total of seven different Jaegers, for almost an entire day.  Two Jaegers were originally scrambled out of Tokyo, but when they couldn’t handle the kaiju, Striker Eureka and Cherno Alpha were sent in as well.  Then three more out of mainland China.  

There wasn’t just one kaiju, there were two.  Geiszler and Gottleib’s predictions were true.  A double event.  

Cherno Alpha was incapacitated and had been choppered back to the Shatterdome.  One of the Jaegers out of Tokyo had been destroyed, and another out of China.  Striker Eureka was in bad shape.  Crimson Typhoon took a beating, but she’d be okay.

Peggy and Herc were out there for just under twenty hours.  It was pushing the limits of what pilot pairs were capable of.  She felt mostly dead, and one of the medics hooked up an IV while the techs were still trying to get her out of the drive suit.

Eventually two medics and a tech got her out of the conn-pod and into the staging area.  Peggy sat heavily on a wooden bench as the medics checked her vitals and the techs removed gear.  She looked up as Sam entered the room.

“Carter,” he said, inclining his head.

She nodded to him, smiling.  “The gang all here?”

Sam nodded.  “We even brought the old man.  Too bad we couldn’t get senior citizen pricing on the plane ticket.”

Peggy smiled, relieved that Steve was here, even if things were still messy between them.

“Speak of the devil,” Sam said, as Steve entered the room.  Sam gave Peggy a tight smile.  “That’s my cue.”  She watched as Sam left.

Steve was frowning deeply.  He didn’t say anything as he watched the techs help her out of the drivesuit.  Two more techs helped Herc into the staging area and he took a seat on the bench several feet from her.  

Herc glanced up at Steve.  “Rogers.”

Steve inclined his head.  “Hansen.”  They shook hands.

Silence descended as the techs continued to help them out of gear.  Steve stood there, watching quietly.  Peggy was hyper aware of his gaze on her, but she found herself avoiding his eyes.

The techs finally had Peggy out of the suit, but she sat on the bench, waiting for the IV to finish.  She still felt awful, but she was improving.  Physically at least.  The neural withdrawal was terrible, worse than usual, probably due to the amount of time she and Herc had spent in the drift - and the fact that Steve was standing within arm’s reach.

The IV finished up and the medics removed it at about the same time that Herc was finally out of his suit.  Steve gave Herc a hand up and then turned to Peggy.

She looked at his hand, then his face.  She could plainly see the longing in his features.  Slowly, she took his hand, allowing him to help her to her feet.  The relief at touching him was immediate and overwhelming.  When she was standing, he still held her hand.  She looked at their hands clasped tightly, fingers threaded together.  She heard Herc turn toward the door.

“We should - “ Peggy started, motioning to the door.

Steve nodded and turned, but he didn’t release her hand.  And she didn’t pull away.  Together they all headed for the door.

In the hallway, Herc immediately turned to the recovery room.  He looked over his shoulder when he realized Peggy wasn’t following.

“Not today, Herc,” she said, turning toward her quarters, pulling Steve behind her.

 

* * *

 

 

She released his hand so she could unlock her door.  She flipped on the lights and stood aside so he could enter the room.  As soon as he was inside, she closed and locked the door.  She looked at him.  “Hello, Steve.”

He gave her a tight smile.  “Hi.”  He opened his mouth to say more, but then shut it, looking at her.

She shifted her weight uneasily between her feet.  “Where are your bags?” she asked.

He started to answer and then rolled his eyes.  “I don’t even know,” he said.  “I didn’t want to make assumptions about how welcome I am.”

She nodded and started to speak.

“I love you,” he said, before she could get a word out.

She looked up at him, blinking quickly.  She nodded.  “I know.”

“Peggy - “ he started.

She shook her head and closed the distance between them, reaching for him.  She thought he might insist on hashing everything out right now, but he didn’t.  He returned the kiss with the same frantic need, pressing her back against the closed door as he pulled at her clothes.

She knew there were tears on her cheeks as she pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it away.  She’d been so starved for the feel of him, the smell of him, the taste of him.  He picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist before he walked across the room to her bunk.

 

* * *

 

 

Hours later, Steve was holding Peggy tight.  The lights were off in her quarters and the only illumination came from the display on an old radio sitting on her desk.  “We still need to talk about things,” he said.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Steve,” she said.  She could feel him tense.  She sighed.  “Regardless of everything that happened, nothing good is going to come out of us avoiding each other.  We need each other too much.”

He relaxed, releasing a taut breath. He nuzzled into the space behind her ear, making her shiver.  “Does that mean we’re together?”

The darkness and his closeness made it easier.  “Yes,” she said.  “It does.”

He shifted, rolling over onto his back, tucking her against his side.  “You pushed yourself to your limits out there today.”

She rested her cheek against his shoulder, tracing idle patterns on his chest with her fingers.  “I didn’t have much choice.”

He was quiet and she thought he might let it drop, but then he said, “I’m proud of you, Peggy.  I hope you know that.”

She blinked quickly, trying to stem the tears.  “I love you, Steve.”

 

* * *

 

 

“How’s it looking?” Peggy asked Hill as she stepped into the launch bay’s nerve center.  Hill and Coulson had wasted no time setting up shop.  Peggy knew she’d taken more R&R after that last op than was typical for her.  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept past dawn.  But it had been nearly ten by the time she and Steve left the room.

Hill shrugged, frowning.  “It could be better.”

Coulson swiveled around in his chair and looked at Peggy and Steve.  “Crimson Typhoon, Striker Eureka, and Yankee Belle are all down for repairs.  We thought Valiant Dawn was ready to go, but when we spun her up this morning, her reactor tripped all the security measures.  We think it might be a damaged housing.”

Peggy frowned.  “So how many working Jaegers do we have here right now?”

“Five,” Coulson said.  “And Fury has everyone scrambling to see if we can piece together working units from what we have left.”

Peggy frowned.  Valiant Dawn was the Jaeger Steve was supposed to pilot.  She didn’t like the idea of him going anywhere near a ride with possible radiation contamination.  She knew what that had done to Pentecost.

“How soon do we expect another event?” Steve asked.

Hill shook her head.  “Can’t say for sure, but soon.  And according to Pentecost’s experts, we may be looking at a triple event.”

“Triple event?” Peggy said, horrified at the thought.  “What do Tony and Banner say?”

Hill nodded soberly.  “They’ve looked at Gottlieb and Geiszler’s data.  Stark and Banner aren’t sounding the alarm yet, but they haven’t discounted them either.”

“Shit,” Peggy swore.

 

* * *

 

 

Peggy was pouring herself a cup of coffee when Herc found her.  He grabbed a cup for himself and they both sat down at one of the tables in the commissary.  With Striker Eureka down for repairs, Peggy and Herc were both at a loss.  Normally there would be any number of projects to keep them busy, but this wasn’t normal.  They were on the edge of something big, and everyone was uneasy.

“So,” Herc said carefully, “you and Rogers.”

Peggy arched an eyebrow at him.  “It’s complicated.”

He met her gaze evenly.  “What’s that mean?”

“It’s the polite way of saying it’s none of your fucking business, Herc,” she replied with a smile.

He chuckled and shook his head.  He took a sip of the coffee and said, “Normally by now, with a co-pilot, I wouldn’t need to talk to them at all.  I’d already know everything.  Being inside another person’s head makes conversation irrelevant.”

Peggy wasn’t sure she agreed.  She’d been in Herc’s head enough to know how strained things were between him and his son.  The Hansens could stand to actually speak to one another.  But she got Herc’s point.  “And with me?”

He arched his eyebrows.  “You’re as much of an enigma today as you were when you first arrived.”

She frowned.  “Not an enigma.  What you see is what you get.”

He laughed at that, obviously not in agreement.  Silence descended and for a while, they both sat there drinking their coffees.  

“Do you drift with Rogers?”

She looked up at Herc, shaking her head.  “No.”

Herc narrowed his gaze.  “So you have to talk to him then.”

Peggy nodded.  “Indeed.”

Hansen seemed to consider this.  “Does he know you?”

She thought about it for a moment and gave him a sharp nod.  “Yeah.  He does.”

He held up his mug in salute.  “I wish you well.”

 

* * *

 

 

The entire crew at the launch site spent the next four days waiting for the other shoe to drop.  They frantically tried to push through repairs.  They managed to get Striker Eureka, Yankee Belle and Crimson Typhoon in working order.  The news from the other launch sites wasn’t so positive.  Most of them were running on skeleton crews.  Tokyo only had one functional Jaeger, though the PPDC was trying to get more Jaegers choppered in from San Francisco and Hawaii.

Everyone was working around the clock and Peggy was as exhausted as everyone else.  But there was no question in her mind that having Steve on the crew, and her bunk, helped.  

An emergency meeting was called and all of the Jaeger pilots and comms staff were pulled in.  Peggy immediately noticed Chuck Hansen, Herc’s son.  She recognized him from Herc’s memories.  But he wasn’t wearing a sling.  Fury caught her looking at him and their eyes locked for a moment.  She knew something was up.

Peggy stood there, with Steve right behind her, listening as Coulson gave a rundown on the state of all the Jaegers.  Then Fury stood up and announced the lineups.  Most of it was standard.  The Maxmoffs would pilot Yankee Belle.  There was another Jaeger, which Steve pulled out of Stark storage in L.A., White Lightning.  It was a Mark-12 bag of bolts, but apparently Natasha and Bucky were piloting her.

Then Fury took a deep breath and announced that Herc and Chuck would be piloting Striker Eureka together.  

Fury gave Peggy a weighty look.  “Carter, you and Rogers are going to have your work cut out for you.  Stark and Ming-su managed to piece together one of the most illustrious Jaegers in the entire PPDC history.”

Steve’s hand came to rest at her waist and Peggy felt a cold dread in the pit of her stomach.  She had a very good idea of what Fury was about to say.  

“The Valkyrie,” Fury said evenly.  “We’ve got her up and running.  And it’s especially fortuitous that her original pilot pair is still with us today.”

 

* * *

 

 

“No,” Steve said flatly.  He was literally shaking with rage.  “Peggy and I are not piloting the Valkyrie together.”

Peggy moved closer to him, resting her hand over his heart.  They were in Fury’s private office off the control room.

“Listen, Rogers,” Fury said.

“Fuck you,” Steve snapped.  Peggy actually flinched.  She’d never seen him like this before.  The only time that came close was the weird flashback she had to him in the hospital.

“Do you think I have a choice?” Fury yelled, every bit as angry as Steve.  He immediately caught himself, pursed his lips together tightly and shook his head sharply.  He gave Steve a hard look, and then Peggy.  “If I had any other option,” he said quietly, “I would have taken it.  But Herc’s kid is recovered.  I need them back in the rotation.  And you two are the only pilot pair I have that can take the Valkyrie.  The Russian Mark-1 pilots already have a ride.  We can’t afford - hell,  _ the world _ can’t afford - to have a working Jaeger gathering dust right now.”

Peggy could hear Steve’s teeth grind together.

  
“I suggest you suit up,” Fury said.  “The Valkyrie is waiting.”

 

* * *

 

 

Steve slammed the door to her quarters so hard the entire space reverberated with the impact.  He was breathing hard, his jaw still tight.  “This is bullshit.”

Peggy took a deep breath and looked at him.  “It’s not.”

He spun around, staring at her, aghast.  His expression was so wounded, so terrified.

She shrugged.  “Fury is right.  He needs Jaegers.  He needs pilots.  This is the most sensible configuration.”

Steve looked at her, and he looked so lost that it made her heart ache.  She approached him slowly, wrapping her arms around his waist, pressing her head to his chest.  “I know you’re scared,” she said.  “I’m scared too.”  She sighed deeply.  “I don’t want to lose myself.  I don’t want to be that ... thing, again.  But this is so much bigger than us, Steve.  We have to.”

She felt him sigh, felt some of the tension go out of his body, and she knew he’d resigned himself to it.  But he didn’t like it.  Not one bit.  His arms wrapped around her and she felt his lips against her forehead.  “I love you, Peggy.”

“I love you too.”

  
  


* * *

 

 

“I’ll take the right side if you don’t mind,” Steve said quietly.

Peggy nodded, knowing, without asking, that she had previously piloted the Valkyrie’s right side.  It made sense that Steve would want to change things as much as he was able.  This was just a handshake test, and not an actual drop.  But it was still unnerving.  If drifting with Steve was going to damage her psyche, it was going to happen now.

She looked around the interior of the Valkyrie’s conn-pod.  She was an old Jaeger, there was no denying that.  She was steel, rather than alloy, rusting in places, and easily five times the weight of the much larger Striker.  She’d require a different skillset to pilot.

It was obvious that newer tech had been incorporated where possible.  The pilot rigs were modern, newer even than Yankee Belle’s.  The interior of the conn-pod had been reinforced, which made Peggy swallow thickly.  She could see the numerous welds, on the right side, where a big chunk of the structure had obviously been damaged and repaired.

This is where she died.

It was a surreal thought.  She understood, that somehow, she hadn’t actually died.  Not completely.  She’d healed, though it had taken cutting edge - and questionable - technology to make it happen.  Not to mention decades.  And she still wasn’t herself.  Not really.

She understood Steve’s fears.  She shared them.  She already told him she didn’t want to be that screaming creature again.  But she couldn’t put millions of lives at risk simply because she was afraid.  The math wasn’t hard.  She would do this because there was no other choice.

The techs strapped her and Steve in.  Coulson’s voice crackled over the comm.  “Neural handshake in three, two, one ...”

Peggy sucked in a sharp breath, giving over the feeling.  Immediately it was different.  Everything was different.  When she piloted in the past, she was aware of the other person’s mind, but always at a distance.  

There was no distance here.  There was no sense of time.  

The drift.  

It could have been seconds, or hours later.  She opened her eyes.  She wasn’t aware of Steve.  That wasn’t the right term.  He was there, in as profound a way as possible.  She was part of him, and he was part of her.

There was no conscious thought, they both started to move, as one.  Peggy handled the comms, because Peggy always handled the comms.  It had never been negotiated.  It just was.  Steve and Peggy didn’t need to speak to one another, in the time it would have taken to get a single word out, they’d already had an entire conversation.  

An entire lifetime.  

Two of them.

“Valkyrie is a go,” Peggy said.

  
  


**END CHAPTER**

 


	9. Chapter 9

“Everything checks out,” Coulson said over the comm.  “Test successful.  Stand down, Valkyrie.”

Peggy waited as control spun down the Valkyrie’s conn-pod systems.  She waited for that inevitable moment when the drift cut.  But it wasn’t the jarring experience she expected.  It just ... dissolved.  

She turned her head, looking at Steve.  He met her eyes, held her gaze.

She was aware of the techs entering the room.  She had to turn her head for them to remove the helmet.  She avoided looking at Steve as the techs helped her out of the gear, and then out of the conn-pod entirely.  She sat on the bench in the staging area.  

Steve waited until she had her shoes laced, and then reached for her hand.  She let him pull her to her feet.  He led her down the hallway, past Ming-su and Tony, who obviously wanted to speak with them.  He didn’t stop until they were inside their quarters, with the door locked.

They didn’t speak.  

They didn’t need to.  

He backed her against the door and she held onto him, her fingers biting into his back.  His jaw rested against her temple and for a very long time, they just stood there, pressed together, clinging to one another, breathing.

Peggy finally took a deep, shuddering breath.  Steve pulled back and looked down at her.  His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb wiping away her tears.

She gave him a watery smile.  “You always were the right partner, Steve.  Too stubborn to run away when you should.”

He winced and smiled at the same time, his eyes glassy.  “God, I missed you.”  

He ducked his head, kissing her and she met him eagerly.  She pulled him to the bed and they both shed their clothes quickly.

There was no preamble, no words.  She pushed him down on his back and climbed over him.  His hands threaded through her hair and he pulled her down for a hungry kiss.

She remembered.

All of it.

She couldn’t sort it out, not right now.  But she remembered.

He moved, rolling her over onto her back, bracing himself on his elbows over her.  She loved the feel of him against her, the heat of his body, the possessiveness of his touch.  She knew, in her mind, that they’d been together earlier that day.  There was no reason for the frantic, burning need.

But her heart knew how long it had really been.  She’d loved Steve, even without her memories, she loved him.  But not like this.  Not with the understanding of everything that existed between them, everything they shared.  

His loneliness all those solitary years was heartbreaking.  

Even after she was recovered, even after she joined the Jaeger program, there had still been so much space between them.

He kissed the tears on her cheeks, groaning her name.  

“Love me,” she said.

He nodded, slowly pushing into her.  She gasped, arching her back, wrapping her legs around his waist.  She had seen everything in the drift, felt everything.  

She felt, with aching precision, the exact weight of her body in his arms as he carried her out of the Valkyrie’s wrecked conn-pod seventy years ago.  She felt his devastation at her funeral, his decades of loneliness.  

She kissed him, her fingernails biting into his back as she tightened around him.  She remembered the first time he saw her after Tony found her.  She remembered the first time he saw her at Jaeger training.  She shifted her legs, hooking her heels against the backs of his thighs, urging him harder.

He drove into her, gasping.  She held him as he shuddered in her arms.  It took him a moment to collect himself, but as soon as he did he was moving off her, kissing her as his fingers found her and teased her to completion.

Peggy knew they needed to get back out there.  They needed to talk to Fury and Stark.  They needed to strategize.  

But right now, she didn’t care.

 

* * *

 

 

Peggy woke with tears on her cheeks.  She looked at Steve, still asleep, face half buried in the pillow.  

He looked the same as he always looked, but she was aware of her change in perspective. She could look at him, and see the shadows of the man he used to be before the serum.  In her memories she could picture him so clearly, climbing into the back of her jeep, Sgt. Duffy gobsmacked in the background, holding the flag that no one had gotten in seventeen years.

She pushed herself into a sitting position, wiping at her cheeks absently.  She knew it was going to take some time to sort through the mess in her head.  She remembered everything.  She had her own memories.  Her childhood in Hampstead, working at Bletchley Park, memories of Michael.  Her time with the SSR.  

Alongside it all were Steve’s memories.  His childhood in Brooklyn, meeting Erskine.

She could feel the weight of Steve’s memories from the time after he lost her.  The deep loneliness and pain inside of him.  Individual memories weren’t clear yet, but she knew they would probably take shape as they drifted together more.

There were echoes of Steve’s memories, mingled with her own, from her time in the training program.  Her first day in New York, the crushing heartbreak as he looked at her across the auditorium at the training compound.  

She’d never known.  Never imagined.  She’d been so oblivious, thinking he didn’t like her, didn’t want her.  He’d been in so much pain.

She reached over and set her hand on his shoulder.  He took a deep breath and stretched.  Blinking his eyes open, he looked up at her, a frown puckering his brow with concern as he wrapped an arm around her waist.

“I’m fine,” she said.  “Just ... adapting.”

Slowly, he sat up, looking at her.  “Your voice is different.  The inflection.”

She arched an eyebrow at him.

“That too,” he said.  “You’re more ... like I remember.  From before.”

_ Before _ .  What a benign word to describe such a horrific chain of events.  She gave him a soft smile. “Well, it stands to reason that remembering one’s self would do that to a person.”

He leaned over and pressed a hard kiss to her temple.  She sighed and sagged against him.  She could feel it, the fragility of it all.  Despite their months together, they were finally reunited.  

“Tell me if you’re not okay,” he said quietly, his voice hoarse.

“You’ll be in my head, Steve,” she said softly.  “I won’t need to tell you.”

 

* * *

 

 

Peggy and Steve’s quiet afternoon together didn’t materialize.

Sirens blared and they ran for the control room.   In ten minutes flat they were in the Valkyrie and heading toward Hong Kong.

 

* * *

 

 

Coulson’s voice crackled over the comm.  “We just got confirmation, people.  A double event.”

Fury’s voice was hard.  “Look sharp.”

Valkyrie followed in Striker’s wake, heading toward Hong Kong to offer backup support to Pentecost’s crew.

 

* * *

 

 

Peggy doubled over as soon as the techs had her out of the pilot rig.  She was shaking all over.  The Valkyrie was a beast, and compared to Striker Eureka or Yankee Belle, physically exhausting to pilot.  It was like driving a car without power steering or power brakes.  Everything took so much more effort to accomplish.

She glanced over at Steve.  He looked tired as well, his hair plastered to his head with sweat.  He met her gaze and smiled.

The techs helped Peggy out to the staging area before Steve was out of his pilot rig.  She went out to the staging area and collapsed onto the seat.  

The techs were still removing gear from Peggy when Steve sat down next to her.  As soon as they were both out, she reached over and took Steve’s hand.  He immediately threaded his fingers through hers.  

The connection between them lingered.  It wasn’t telepathy, nothing like that.  She couldn’t read his thoughts.  But she felt connected to him, in a way she’d never felt connected to anyone else in her life.  It was a deeper connection, even, than the sex they shared after drifting with other people.  There was no more clawing sensation of withdrawal, just a gradual softening of their connection as time passed outside of the drift.

As soon as the techs finished and the medics released them, they walked to their quarters.  She shut the door and he pulled her close.  Wrapping her arms around him, she her nose against his neck, breathing in the scent of him.  He made a pleased sound and hugged her tighter.  

She laughed, and pulled back.  “You need a shower.”

He didn’t release her.  “ _ We _ need a shower.”

 

* * *

 

 

It wasn’t yet dawn when both of their phones dinged in unison.  Steve checked his.  He typed out a reply and looked over at her.  “Briefing in an hour.”

They managed to make it to the briefing on time.  Barely.  

They listened as Tony and Coulson explained the situation.  Two more kaiju came through the breach.  But they weren’t attacking, just circling the breach.  Pentecost’s two kaiju experts were sure this had to be a triple event. 

Peggy, and everyone else in the room, listened as Fury laid out Pentecost’s plan to attack the breach, to close it permanently.  It was insane, but so was everything else.  Tony thought the plan had a good chance of working and everyone else was desperate enough to try anything.

Pentecost was sending Striker Eureka in with a nuke, to do the job.  Peggy had frantically scanned the crowd earlier, but she knew Herc wasn’t there.  She’d heard he was hurt, but she had no idea how badly.  Both of the Hansens, along with Striker Eureka, were in Hong Kong, prepping for the op.  Gipsy Danger, Yankee Belle and White Lightning would be at Striker’s back, to make sure she made it to her target.  

All the other Jaegers, the Valkyrie included, would hold the line, protect the perimeter in case any of the kaiju managed to break containment.

 

* * *

 

 

Nothing about Pentecost’s plan worked out the way they discussed.

Herc had dislocated his shoulder in the last op and was out.  Pentecost was jockeying Striker, along with  Chuck Hansen.  Gottlieb and Geiszler, Pentecost’s scientists, finally made it back to the Shatterdome where they conferred with Tony.  

Peggy and Steve heard all the chatter, that Striker would need kaiju DNA in order to get the nuke through the breach.

Then the third kaiju came through.  A triple event.  An entirely new category of monster, bigger than anything they’d seen before.

Steve and Peggy stood sentinel in the bay, in the Valkyrie, listening as Striker was crippled and Pentecost ordered Gipsy to the breach.  “Mako,” they heard Pentecost say to his daughter, “You can always find me in the drift.”

Peggy didn’t know if the pain was hers, or Steve’s.  Both probably.  They’d lived that truth in all of its horror.

Peggy listened, to Striker’s final moments, knowing the Herc was listening to his son sacrifice himself.  Pentecost and Chuck did it.  They used all the resources at their disposal to ensure Gipsy made it to the breach.  The impact of the nuclear explosion felt like a punch in the chest, even as far away as Steve and Peggy were in the Valkyrie, and Peggy was grateful for the upgraded radiation shielding.

Gipsy made it into the breach.  They thought they had finally finished it.

They thought wrong.

The kaiju burst out of the water on the Valkyrie’s right side.  Peggy could feel the fear in Steve’s mind, but she didn’t chase it.  She twisted, her hand up to block the blow.  The Valkyrie rocked back on her heels from the force of the impact.  If it had been one of the lighter Jaegers, she would have gone flying.

The kaiju immediately twisted away, as the Valkyrie turned, trying to get a bead on the monster.  “Control, we have contact,” Peggy reported.

She heard Choi and Coulson’s replies, but didn’t actually listen to their words.  She and Steve were too busy, trying to grapple with the much more maneuverable kaiju.  It was huge, far larger than the Valkyrie.  And fast.

The creature rammed them and the Valkyrie barely had time to hunker down, her feet digging into the rocky ocean floor.  The impact was incredible, and the Valkyrie lost her footing, toppling over backwards into the frigid waters.  Alarms were blaring.  The emergency lights in the conn-pod flipped on and they could see water seeping through cracks in the superstructure.

As the Valkyrie turned to push herself to her feet, the creature was on her back, its jaws tearing at the back of the conn-pod.  Steve and Peggy shifted, trying to shake the kaiju loose, but it clung on viciously, continuing to gnaw at the back of the conn-pod.

The Valkyrie finally managed to stagger upright, but the kaiju wasn’t letting go.  The Valkyrie jumped as high as she could, throwing herself backwards, smashing herself and the kaiju into the ocean floor with unbelievable force.

It took Peggy a moment to orient herself.  Water was seeping into the pod, quicker now.  She looked over to her side, to Steve.  His pilot rig moorings had come loose and the entire rig was twisted around, listing at a sharp angle.  His body hung limply in the rig.

Peggy couldn’t feel him in the drift.  So many of the life support systems were on the fritz, and she couldn’t get a reading to tell her if he was alive or dead.  She tore at her helmet.  “Steve!”  

He didn’t answer.  

“Steve!”

The Valkyrie listed to the side as the kaiju scrambled out from under her, and there was a deafening roar from the wounded creature.  Peggy concentrated on making the Valkyrie move.  It hurt like hell.  Her head was throbbing and her vision wavered.

She was going to have to pilot the Valkyrie alone.

She didn’t know if Steve was alive or not, but if she didn’t finish this thing, both of them were definitely going to be dead.

She twisted and the Valkyrie twisted with her, lurching to her feet, wobbly, her right side weak.  Peggy glanced over at Steve.  The pilot rig was swaying freely back and forth as the Valkyrie moved.

Peggy looked at the displays.  The kaiju surfaced directly in front of the Valkyrie.  It was badly wounded.  Peggy stared at it, aware that her breath was heaving.  She could feel her nose bleeding, dripping down over her lips and off her chin.  She lurched toward the kaiju, and it reached out, grabbing the Valkyrie’s dominant left leg.  She and the Valkyrie clutched at the creature with her left arm and it roared in the Valkyrie’s face.

She knew this was it, she had one more chance to end this thing before it finished her and Steve off for good.  She released her grip with the Valkyrie’s left hand, falling away, but she twisted, pushing as much momentum as she could into the Valkyrie’s hips, bringing the weaker, right leg around as fast as possible.  She felt the right leg hit the creature, the heavy, reinforced steel tearing through kaiju flesh, muscle and bone, before both the Valkyrie and the kaiju sank to the bottom of the ocean.

The emergency lights were failing and Peggy barely managed to pull the emergency ejection levers before she lost consciousness.  

Her final thoughts were of Steve.

  
  
  


**END CHAPTER**

  
  



	10. Chapter 10

_ She didn’t even look over at him, but she said, “Stop hovering, Steve.” _

_ He frowned, doing his best to ignore the smiles the techs were trying to bite back.  Neither of them spoke again until they were completely strapped in.  All that remained was putting on their helmets and they wouldn’t do that until the conn-pod was seated.   The techs left, securing the hatch behind themselves. _

_ “I’m fine,” she said quietly.  He looked over at her and their eyes met.  She was still the most mesmerizing woman he’d ever seen.  And, somehow, she was with him.  Her expression softened.  “We’re both fine.” _

_ Without conscious thought, Steve’s gaze dropped to her abdomen.  Not that you could see anything.  The Valkyrie’s drive suits were enormous.  But Steve knew what she looked like unclothed.  He knew the gentle swell of her belly.  They’d gone round and round about this for weeks.  Chen was nearly ready to start piloting for real.  Steve had done several test runs with him.  They could drift.  They were pretty solid.   _

_ But Chen wasn’t Peggy, and everyone knew that.  Right now, humanity needed the best they could suit up, and that meant Peggy - even if Steve would personally prefer she be as far from the line of fire as possible. _

_ There was an announcement over the comm and the conn-pod started to descend.  Steve felt, as much as heard, the pod lock into place on the Jaeger body.  In tandem, he and Peggy both pulled on their helmets, securing them in place.  He waited for the relay gel to flush. _

_ Over the comm came Morita’s voice.  “Neural handshake in three, two, one.” _

_ They fell into the rhythm of piloting.  They moved as one, toward the target, approximately a thousand klicks west of Manila.  It was a three Jaeger op, a joint venture between the Allied Coalition and the South Pacific Defense Grid.  Steve and Peggy were lead, in the Valkyrie, out of Melville Island.   _

_ Eva01 was the Jaeger out of Kagoshima, and Kandimalal Dreaming was out of Sydney.  Steve and Peggy had never worked with any of these Jaegers or pilot pairs, but that was hardly new.  It seemed that new Jaegers and pilot pairs were coming online globally at the rate of about two a month.  Humanity was learning how to do this, how to fight the kaiju, and win.  It was becoming rote. _

_ They thought. _

_ Hubris. _

_ Nothing about the op went to plan.   _

_ They lost Eva01 first.   _

_ Peggy and Steve spun around to flank the kaiju while it was still finishing off Eva01.  It was a move they’d made dozens of times.  Kaiju were always slow to spin to their left. _

_ This kaiju was not. _

_ They were just out of range when the kaiju twisted around.  Steve saw it too late, the whiplike tail with the barbed spike on the end.  He reacted on instinct, putting the Valkyrie’s left hand out in front of her face, to shield the conn-pod, but he was a half a second too late.  It didn’t stop the whiplike tail, only deflect it so it didn’t make a direct hit on the conn-pod.  Instead of hitting the Valkyrie head on, where her steel superstructure was, it hit the far right side of the pod, where the windows were.  The tail was moving so fast, it tore through the right side of the conn-pod.   _

_ Steve felt Peggy’s injury before his eyes could make sense of the scene. _

_ The pain was agonizing, excruciating.  He couldn’t breathe. _

_ She was gone.   _

_ Peggy. _

_ The tail withdrew.  The right half of the conn-podd was mangled.  Steve could only stare.  Peggy wasn’t there.  She wasn’t in his head.  He couldn’t feel her.  He could see her body hanging limply in the pilot rig.  He was vaguely aware of alarms blaring, the sound of Morita on the comm, the smell of fried electronics. _

_ If there was any hope of saving her, he had to get them both back to base.  He turned.  The Valkyrie turned with him.  All of her.  He looked at the kaiju, now standing directly in front of him. _

 

* * *

 

 

Peggy jerked awake, nearly sending herself falling out of the chair.  She immediately groaned, reaching for her knee, which was tightly bandaged.  She steadied herself with one hand on the railing of Steve’s hospital bed, waiting for the pain to pass.

Her knee was screwed.  She suspected Steve would say she deserved it for never learning the proper form for that damn kick.  

Taking a deep breath, she looked at him.  He looked terrible.  His face was bruised and swollen.  He had significant internal injuries.  He’d already been through two surgeries.  

But he was doing okay.  They’d weaned him off the ventilator that morning and he was breathing on his own.  She reached over and laced her fingers through his.

There was a noise, and she turned, looking at Herc standing in the doorway.  She waved him in, rising to stand, all of her weight resting on her left leg.

“You okay?” Herc asked cautiously.  His eyes were red rimmed and he looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

Peggy dragged a hand through her hair, exhaling sharply. “Yeah.  Just, uh, nightmares, I guess.  Flashbacks.”

“Neural load,” Herc said quietly.  “It may take you a while to heal.  You did a hell of a job in the Valkyrie by yourself.  And you put that kaiju in the ground.  You have the last kill on record.”

Peggy’s gave him a watery smile.  It was such a dubious honor.  She’d gladly trade it for Steve.   Cautiously reached over and laid her hand over Herc’s.  “I’m so sorry about Chuck,” she whispered.

Herc nodded, but it was obvious he couldn’t speak.  He lost his son.  His only family.  She turned toward him and he leaned into her.  Silent sobs wracked his frame as she held him, mindful of his damaged shoulder.  The embrace didn’t last long, he pulled back, nodding, wiping impatiently at his tears.  “He was a good boy,” he said gruffly.  “A good son.  He did me proud.”

Peggy squeezed his arm, blinking back tears.  So much pain.  So much loss.

“How’s Rogers?” Herc asked, nodding to Steve.

“Hanging in there,” she said, smiling softly.  “He’s a stubborn son of a bitch.”

“He definitely is that,” Herc agreed fondly.

“How’s Raleigh?” she asked.

Herc gave her a tight smile.  “He was released yesterday.  Docs say he’ll be fine.”

“Is it true what they said about the breach?” she asked.  “Is it really closed?”

He shrugged.  “Stark’s been throwing everything he has at it, but so far it looks like they did it.  It’s sealed.  For good.”

 

* * *

 

 

Herc managed to convince Peggy to go back to the Shatterdome long enough to shower and catch a couple hours sleep.  When she woke, she wondered if it hadn’t been a mistake.  Before, she was too deliriously tired to fully appreciate how awful she felt.  Somewhat rested, the full reality of the situation hit her.  And her knee was killing her.

She understood that Steve was probably going to be okay.  But the fact that he hadn’t woken up yet had her filled with barely contained terror.  She couldn't lose him.  Not again.  Not after they finally found one another.

She wandered into the commissary in search of coffee.  Tony was there, looking every bit as exhausted as she felt.  He joined her in the cab to the hospital.  “Have you looked at Steve’s charts?” she asked.

“I’m not authorized to look at Steve’s charts.”

“Have you looked at Steve’s charts?”

He turned and looked at her.  “It’s bad,” he said.  “Awful, actually.  But Rogers is more resilient than the average bear.  He’ll be fine.”

Peggy nodded and looked out the window at the passing landscape.  The kaiju attack had done a number on Hong Kong.  It was going to take them a long time to repair the damage.  Thankfully the casualties had been limited.  The hospital was busy, but not overwhelmed.

She went to Steve’s room.  He was still out, but he did look marginally better.  Aside from the initial blow that knocked him out, the doctors didn't think there would be any lasting head trauma.  As Tony noted, he wasn’t exactly an average guy.  He could survive damn near anything.  She hoped.

She was leaning against his bed, scrolling through her phone when his hand brushed against her chest.  

One of his eyes was still swollen shut.  “You’re wearing my shirt,” he croaked.

“Possession is nine tenths of the law, Captain,” she said quickly, blinking back tears.  She stood up and leaned over him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.  She stayed there, holding onto him, trying not to hold him too tightly.  “You’re not allowed to leave me,” she said.  “You hear that, soldier?”

“I’m not going anywhere without you, Peg,” he whispered.

 

* * *

 

 

**Two Weeks Later**

 

“Peggy,” Steve whined, reaching for her.

She twisted away, out of his grasp.  “Rest,” she said tartly.  “Cho said you need rest.  She doesn’t like how slowly your ribs are healing.”

“No, Peggy,” he said firmly.  “Come here.  I need - “

“I know exactly what it is you think you need, Captain,” she replied with a frown.  “You’re not getting it.”

“Peggy - “

“No,” she said, closing the door behind herself.  They were back at the New York launch facility.  For the time being at least.  From all appearances, the breach was actually closed.  Which meant almost every nation on the planet was eager to shutter the astronomically expensive Jaeger programs and start blaming each other for the catastrophic damage sustained by the creatures.

So far Peggy had tried to ignore the news.  She had more important things to focus on, like Steve.  They’d moved him back to New York as soon as he was released from the hospital in Hong Kong.  He was still supposed to be taking it easy, but he didn’t like that idea at all.  He was bored.  And Steve Rogers, when bored, was dangerous.

It wasn’t that Peggy didn’t share his frustrations.  She absolutely did.  But she wasn’t going to risk his health in search of pleasure, no matter how badly she wanted him.

But she’d finally stopped holding her breath, and started planning for the future.  It sounded like the Jaeger program was going to be rolled under the Department of Defense.  Peggy wasn’t keen on being part of that, and neither was Steve.  He’d been such a fixture of the program, she wondered if he’d be able to step away.  But he seemed relieved to be looking for something new - and to creating a real life together with her.

She had only started looking online at ads for apartments in New York.  It was laughably out of the question with her bank account.  But luckily Steve had lived like a miserly hermit for seventy years.  He had more than enough money for them to relocate into something decent.

But first, he had to heal.

 

* * *

 

 

It was late when Peggy got back to the apartment.  It was quiet.  She glanced in the bedroom.  The bed was unmade, but Steve wasn’t in it.  An irrational fear made her heart beat faster.

As she turned, he was suddenly right there, reaching for her.  She yelped and then dissolved into laughter as he pinned her back against the door.

“No,” she said, trying to sound firm as he kissed her neck.  “You need to rest.”

“I’m fine,” he said, his hands roaming under her shirt - his shirt, actually - over her skin.  

She shivered, pushing against him.  “ _ Steve _ .”

“I nearly died, Peggy,” he said earnestly.  “I need to be comforted.”

“You’ve been comforted,” she said dryly.  “You want sex.”

“What’s your point?”

With a groan, she kissed him, giving over to it.  Knowing he’d won, he walked her backwards to the bed.  Clothes were quickly shed, but when he took off his shirt, she hissed through her teeth, looking at the jagged scar along his side.

“I’m fine,” he said, kissing her, pushing her back on the mattress.

“You’re not fine,” she protested.  “You’re hurt.”

“Okay,” he said, rolling over onto his back and pulling her over him.  “You do the work.”

She frowned down at him, but she couldn’t really fault his logic.  She ducked her head, kissing him.  She’d missed him like this.  His fingers threaded through her hair as their tongues tangled together.  

 

* * *

 

 

Afterward, Peggy was laying with her head against Steve’s chest, mindful of his healing wound.  She glanced up at him.  “Sam said he took you over to the hangar this morning.”

He looked down at her.  “You weren’t supposed to know about that.”

“Then next time, ask Natasha to help you.  All your other friends are abysmal liars.”

He made a frustrated noise.

She traced her fingers over his chest, skirting along the edge of his scar.  “What were you doing?”

“Going through some of my old stuff in storage.”

She pushed herself up in a sitting position and looked at him.  “What kind of stuff?  If you need more t-shirts, you should really just order them online.  I hate to think what the moths have done to the old ones.”

He frowned at her, but rolled over, reaching for the nightstand.  When he rolled back, he was holding a box, old and weathered by time.  He handed it to her.  She recognized the box and blinked quickly.

Cautiously, Peggy opened the little box.  The lamplight caused the tiny diamond to glitter and she took a deep, shaky breath.  Carefully, she took the ring out of the box.  “You still had my ring.”

“Of course I still had it,” he said quietly.  He looked at her, holding her gaze.  “Will you marry me this time?”

He’d asked before, so many times.  And she’d worn the ring, but never given him a firm answer.  Not even when they found out about the baby.  She had never not wanted to marry him.  But life had been so hectic.  She felt she finally found her calling as a Jaeger pilot.  She found the perfect partner in Steve.  And then they found out about the baby.  They'd been happy.  

But there had been some bitterness for Peggy, irritation that it was _her_ life and _her_ career that would be put on hold.  She was resigned to it.  She couldn't imagine not having the child, creating a family with Steve.  But the surrender of her life and autonomy had irked her.

She'd been so young.  And so full of the righteous indignation only the young can fully embrace.

She thought they were immortal - all of them.

And she had been so wrong.

The fact that she and Steve were together, now, defied all logic.  It shouldn't have been possible.  Their life together should have ended seventy years ago.  The fact that they had another chance - there was no way she was throwing it away.  She slipped the ring on her finger.  It still fit perfectly.

He tugged lightly at the ends of her fingers.  “So,” he said.  “Will you?”

She rolled her eyes and gave him a watery smile.  “Of course I’ll marry you.”

He grinned widely and pulled her down against him, cuddling her close and kissing her.  “I love you, Peggy Carter.  Always.”

 

END STORY


End file.
